An Eye For An Eye
by Flyerfly
Summary: A woman from Mulder's past calls on his assistance to solve a set of ritualistic murders in Philadelphia.
1. Default Chapter

DISCLAIMER: All of the characters excepting Dr. Elizabeth  
Sykes and Detective Lauren Alvarez belong first and foremost   
to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and the beloved   
Fox Network. Concepts centering around the mytharc, including   
Purity Control and the search for Samantha belong to the   
aforementioned, and I adamantly do not take credit for them.   
TITLE: An Eye For An Eye   
AUTHOR: Flyerfly   
RATING: R for suggestive and X-rated dialogue.   
CATEGORY: MSR/UST  
SPOILERS: CLOSURE SUMMARY: When a woman from Mulder's past   
asks for help on a case in Philadelphia, Mulder and Scully   
are thrown head-first into the investigation of a strange   
set of ritualistic murders. But they get more than they   
bargain for when a few twists and turns force them to look   
carefully at how their actions affected their past cases   
and what the consequences of those choices mean for the future.   
NOTE: This fic is meant to come before "all things" which I,   
incidentally, do not believe to be the sight of M&S's first   
sexual encounter. Therefore, I intend not only to portray   
this encounter, which I believe has not been depicted in   
any episode, but will also pave the way for the convoluted   
"Super Soldier" mythology that springs up in S8-S9. On to the story.  
  
Quantico Medical Facility   
March 25, 2000   
11:28 A.M.   
  
The sunlight streamed lazily through the window pane, filtered   
slightly by the pristine Venetian blinds, and coming to rest   
upon a lengthy table situated in the middle of the room.   
Glancing up through her medical goggles, Dana Scully turned her   
attention from the specimen lying on the table to the eight   
students busily taking notes at arm's length in front of her.   
The light danced playfully about her face, illuminating her fiery,   
red hair and the dissecting tools she bore in her hands.   
  
"The deceased is a Caucasian male," she began, "twenty-five   
years of age and in perfect physical condition...," she   
paused as her green, surgical gloves clasped a small blanket   
covering the man's torso, "...that is, except for one minor   
detail." Scully pulled the blanket from the corpse, revealing   
a rather erect penis, still frozen in position from the   
setting in of rigor mortis. A miniscule smile formed at the   
corners of her mouth as the eyes of her students dilated in awe.   
  
"He was found dead at his apartment on Saturday, having taken   
an overdose of medicine to treat his erectile dysfunction.   
Further investigation revealed that he died of a brain   
hemorrhage, specifically regulated to the hypothalamus...,"   
she smirked at her students,   
  
"...the pleasure center of the brain."   
  
"O.D.'d on Viagra," laughed one of her students, "what a way to   
go!" As the rest of the students chuckled, her response was   
curtailed by a knocking on the door leading to the hall of the   
facility. Scully smiled as her eyes took in the shape of her   
partner, Fox Mulder, waving excitedly to her through the glass.   
He smiled back, his deep, mysterious eyes twinkling at the sight   
of her. His visit was unexpected, but a happy one. She needed a   
break from the monotony; the mundane nature of the hospital was   
a far cry from the excitement of field work. She was beginning   
to regret having accepted Agent Lowell's request to have her   
administer to his classes while he was away visiting his family   
for the duration of his month-long Easter vacation.   
  
Placing the instruments back upon a tray beside the slab, Scully   
murmured an "Excuse me" to her students as she grabbed for the   
doorknob.   
  
"And I thought I had trouble getting up in the morning," Mulder   
smirked as he motioned with his thumb towards the deceased.   
A sigh escaped Scully's lips as she shook her head disapprovingly.   
  
"Mulder, what are you doing here?" she asked him, silently hoping   
that he had come to drag her away for some quest for the paranormal.   
She drew her goggles atop the base of her head.   
  
"I don't know," he said, lifting a finger to his cheek, "what am   
I doing here?" He mumbled something unintelligible to himself as   
Scully grew increasingly impatient.   
  
"Mulder, my students are waiting..." He cut her complaint short,   
and put his hands up in a gesture of defeat in order to hasten   
the conversation.   
  
"Okay, okay. You don't have to twist my...," looking through   
the window and smiling to himself, "...arm. I just received   
a phone call from an old friend of mine, Lauren Alvarez.   
She's a detective at the Philadelphia Police Department. She's   
working on a case right now that I think should be of some   
interest. If you can tear yourself away from Prince   
Charming over there then meet me at the airport at 5:30 tonight."   
  
"But, Mulder," she whined as he turned his back to her, "my   
students?" He waved her off with a flip of his hand and called   
back without turning around, "5:30."   
  
Philadelphia Police Department   
2:48 P.M.   
  
Lauren Alvarez, an exotic looking woman with flowing, black hair   
sat at her desk, pen in hand, writing a memo to herself. For   
months now this case had been eating away at her, resonating   
somewhere deep inside. She hated this guy with every core of her   
being, this sick murderer who seemed to enjoy dispensing pain,   
inflicting the worst imaginable horrors on his victims. She   
couldn't wait for him to kill again. She had to find him, to take   
him out before he hurt another.   
  
"Lauren?" Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone   
calling her name. She looked up from her work. There he was,   
slightly older, somewhat changed, but still very much the   
dashing man she had known.   
  
"Fox," she greeted him warmly, "how are you? It's been so long."   
Scully's eyes searched Mulder's at the sound of his first name.   
"An old friend, huh?" she muttered under her breath, "she looks   
pretty spry to me." Mulder shrugged his shoulders as Detective   
Alvarez approached.   
  
"Hello, Lauren," he said as he placed his hands around her   
extended palm, caressing it as though it was a familiar position,   
"You look well." Scully feigned a cough as she struggled to divert   
attention to her presence. Mulder released Alvarez and motioned to   
Scully, "Lauren, this is my partner, Scully."   
  
"Special Agent Scully," she clarified, and extended her own hand,   
shaking that of Alvarez.   
  
"Well," Alvarez said, using a tone quite obviously less amiable   
than with the one she greeted Mulder, "I'm glad you're both here.   
I have something very interesting that I would like to show you."   
  
"I'll bet," Scully scowled as Alvarez led the two to an inner   
office.   
  
"Would you like something to drink?" she asked the partners,   
raising a coffee pot as an offering.   
  
"No thank you," Scully answered a little too politely, "Perhaps   
you could just show us what is so pressing, the reason why we   
flew out from D.C. on a moment's notice?"   
  
Alvarez lowered the coffee pot and turned off the lights,   
reaching for a projector button.   
  
"These are the bodies of three women, all in their mid-twenties,   
all quite beautiful, taken over the course of four months."   
She flipped slowly from one crime scene to the next. "In each   
case, the victim was beaten and stabbed forty times. A single   
eye and tooth was removed from each of the victims. The weapon   
has not been found at any of the crime scenes."  
  
"What are you thinking?" Mulder asked, "Religious radical?"   
  
"That was my initial inclination," admitted Alvarez, "but   
listen to this. The medical examiner stated that the cause of   
death was diminished oxygen to the brain through asphyxiation   
but there are no signs of strangulation on the bodies. I   
honestly don't know what to think. I really want to nail this   
guy but I feel as though I've exhausted every possible lead.   
That's why I called you in on this, Fox."   
  
Scully shuffled uncomfortably at the sound of his name. She   
felt as though she were intruding upon some secret meeting   
to which she was not privy. Mulder turned his glance from   
the longing gaze of Alvarez to the frustrated gaze of Scully.   
  
"I guess you should get going to the morgue," he said to her   
as he walked toward the door, "I need a full report on all   
of the victims."   
  
"And where are you going?" she asked him.   
  
"To get something to eat," he answered shortly, "All this talk   
of cutting into things has made me hungry."   
  
Philadelphia City Morgue   
9:12 P.M.   
  
The footsteps of Fox Mulder echoed sadly throughout the poorly-lit   
hallway, his lengthy, tan coat trailing flawlessly behind. In one   
hand, he carried a brown paper bag. The other was tucked neatly   
away in his pocket. He pushed wide the double doors at the end of   
the hall, revealing Scully bent over one of the victims. She   
looked up, weariness blanketing her eyes. He smiled in spite of   
himself. He loved seeing her like this, so together, so methodical,   
so in-control. He raised the bag and waved it slightly from   
side-to-side, "I brought Chinese."   
  
"Thank goodness," she answered, removing the latex gloves from her   
hands and throwing them in the waste container, "I'm starving." It   
never ceased to amaze him. She could stand there, hour after hour,   
cutting away at the remnants of a human being, and still retain her   
appetite. "What'd you find out?" he asked, placing the bag on the   
countertop, "Anything interesting?"   
  
The incandescent lights flickered on and off, humming with the dull   
sound of dying bulbs. Scully approached a lab stool and sat, the   
corners of her white lab coat conforming to her body beneath her   
weight. She placed her hands at the sides of her hips, arched her   
back, and rubbed gently. She had been on her feet for nearly five   
hours. "Well," she began, eyes closed, "there was only one recent   
victim, killed three days ago. The others have already been buried."   
Mulder moved in silently behind her and placed his hands on   
her shoulders.   
  
"Let me," he said. Normally she wouldn't allow it, but his strong   
hands felt so good to the touch that she simply couldn't help   
herself. She continued, "I examined every inch of her and   
everything seems much in line with what Detective Alvarez has   
already told us. The clean incisions suggest a very sharp knife,   
perhaps used for skinning animals or ceremonial purposes." She   
felt her eyes roll back into her head as his hands traveled to   
the small of her back. The warmth enveloped her. "I did,   
however, notice a few strange details."   
  
Her brief stint of pleasure was abruptly halted as Mulder   
removed his hands from her body.   
  
"What did you find?" he asked.   
  
Scully opened her eyes. His face was a mixture of curiosity and   
determination. She sighed inwardly. "The tox screen showed that the   
victim contained high amounts of alcohol in her bloodstream. In   
addition, there is a fracture present in both the left and right   
radius of the victim, as though she was attempting to fight off her   
attacker while being bound. However, there is no sign of   
any binding material on either of her wrists or forearms. Or   
her entire body, for that matter. No rope burns, no wire cuts...  
not even a trace of tape."   
  
Mulder shifted his weight from one foot to the other,   
"Anything else?" Scully opened the bag and removed a fork,   
twisting it playfully about her fingers.   
  
"Yes," she replied, "one more thing. The epiglottis was swollen   
significantly, about two times the normal size for a woman her age."   
  
"What are your thoughts?" he asked her as she opened her sweet and   
sour chicken.   
  
"It's quite probable that the swollen epiglottis caused the   
asphyxiation," she stuck one on her fork, dipped it in the sauce,   
and popped it in her mouth, "As to how the epiglottis came to be   
swollen...I simply don't have enough information to go on at   
this point. More extensive tests will have to be run." She   
pulled the fork slowly from her mouth, her tongue caressing   
the sweet, sweet sauce.   
  
He watched her as she ate, smiling with longing in his heart.   
He spoke softly, "Don't forget to save room for dessert."   
  
She threw him a questioning look, her eyes alight with the   
possibilities hidden in that one, simple phrase. He flashed   
her a smile and pulled something from his left pocket that had   
previously been obscured from view. "Fortune cookie," he said   
playfully, beaming ear-to-ear, "Don't you want to know what the   
future holds?" He tossed her the single-serving dessert,   
hermetically sealed in a plastic package. She caught it in her   
palms and opened the wrapper with her thumb and pointer finger.   
She cracked the cookie, pulling the thin, white paper from one   
of the halves. She lifted it to her eyes and read aloud,   
smiling at the irony, "You will find great pleasure..."   
  
"...in bed," Mulder finished.   
  
"What?" she questioned. "It doesn't say that Mulder." She turned   
the paper around for his viewing benefit, as if she needed proof   
to fully convince him, "See?"   
  
"I know, Scully," he answered, "Didn't you ever play that game with   
your friends?" He looked at her inquisitively, "Whenever you get   
Chinese, you're supposed to read your fortune and then add 'in bed'   
to the end of the fortune. You know, for fun? You do know what   
fun is, don't you, Scully?" She scowled at his sarcasm as she   
asked, "And what does your fortune say, Agent Mulder, or are   
you too afraid to fight the future?"   
  
He grinned. Maybe he was rubbing off on her after all. He pulled a   
second cookie from his right pocket and held it up for her see,   
"Let's find out." He opened the cookie, read it, and let out a   
mock gasp of fear. "What does it say, Mulder?" Scully asked.   
  
"Nothing important really," he answered, "Confucius says that you   
are the sexiest Special Agent ever assigned to the X-Files." He   
crumpled up the fortune and threw it discontentedly in a   
wastebasket.   
  
"Call me as soon as you're finished," he yelled to her, making an   
exceptionally hasty departure. As soon as his back was out of view,   
she picked the fortune from the wastebasket. Straightening it, she   
read aloud, "The answers to the questions that you seek are written   
in the stars."   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mulder angrily pushed aside the door leading out into the   
parking lot. The force of his blow knocked the frame against the   
wall, sending a loud "thud" cascading throughout the starlit sky.   
He paced forward and back, eyes to the pavement, with one hand at   
his hip and the other at his forehead. "Get ahold of yourself,   
Fox," he thought aloud, "It's only a stupid cookie, a simple,   
generic saying that has absolutely no relevance whatsoever. Hell,   
I could have just as easily gotten one that said 'Blue is your   
favorite color' or 'Cleanliness is next to godliness'." He glanced   
up. An elderly couple was watching him intently. The old woman   
whispered something in her husband's ear. "What are you looking at,   
Grandma?" he yelled to her, nodding his head for emphasis, "You've   
never seen a guy talking to himself?" Placing her hand on her chest,   
she permitted a barely audible, "Well, I never" to pass her lips as   
she and her husband hurriedly advanced into the darkness. The street   
lamps twinkled in the night, surpassed only by the amazing light   
of the distant stars. He looked up. "The answers to the questions   
that you seek are written in the stars." A sigh escaped his lips.   
He remembered the freedom that he had felt after he had found the   
truth, the sheer relief at finally putting closure to the greatest   
search of all - the search for his sister. "Samantha," he called to   
her, "I know you're up there, watching me." He felt that if he   
looked hard enough, he could even see her beautiful eyes, two   
beacons of crystalline light staring down to Earth, watching him,   
guarding him. "I'm so sorry Samantha," he cried suddenly and without   
reserve, "I'm so sorry for losing you! If only I could have found   
you sooner, if only I could have stopped them from performing those   
horrible tests! Then you'd be here with me, right now, instead of   
up there!" He pointed accusingly at the night sky. He felt the   
absence - Deep Throat was gone, so was his father, his mother...  
Samantha. And what of Scully's sacrifices? She had given up   
a sister, her eggs, a chance for a normal life. And all for   
what? How many more had to die? How many more would have to   
suffer so that he could find the truth? This last thought was   
unbearable. He suddenly felt as if all the sadness of the   
world rested on his shoulders, as if the very night was   
swallowing him whole. He fell to his knees and wept like a   
child, his tears falling damp against the cold, dark ground.   
  
Liberty Bell Inn   
March 26, 2000   
6:17 A.M.   
  
Fox Mulder awoke from an uncontrollably restless sleep to the sound   
of pounding on the door. Mulder stirred groggily as his partner's   
voice came from behind the thick, wooden frame, "Mulder? Are you   
in there? It's me."   
  
"Uhhh," his head circled from side to side as he squirmed in the   
uncomfortable blue chair that had served as his bed for the night.   
Maybe he was still dreaming.   
  
"Mulder, it's me. Open the door."   
  
Maybe not. Mulder was still attempting to make sense of his   
surroundings as he heard the door behind him open and close.   
"Mulder, it's me." The pounding moved from the door to his head.   
It was as if he were drowning and her words were muted by the water.   
He tried to open his eyes but the intense light emanating through   
the window pane shone with a painful ferocity. He quickly shaded   
them with his hands.   
  
"Scully, what time is it?" he asked her.   
  
"Nearly 6:20, Mulder," she answered, "I was worried about you.   
I tried to call you last night after I finished the autopsy but   
your phone was off the..." Her words were cut short as she glanced   
at the fuzzy, blackened television screen, "Mulder, what were you   
watching last night?" He hurriedly grabbed for the remote control   
that lay underneath a half-empty bag of David's Sunflower Seeds   
on the table next to his makeshift bed.   
  
"Sorry," he answered, hastily turning off the set, "I was following   
up on some leads."   
  
Scully glanced at him hard, her gaze shooting straight through   
him. He looked like shit. The dark bags hung deep underneath his   
reddened eyes and his scruffy hair was completely unkempt. He was   
dressed in his suit from the previous day, sans jacket, tie, and   
shoes. The collar and cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned and   
hung limp.   
  
"Mulder," she asked, "are you okay?"   
  
"I'm fine, Scully," he blandly responded. He walked over to   
the dresser where a third of a bottle of Whiskey sat opened. He   
reached for some ice that he had gathered in a bucket the previous   
night, but all that remained was water. Instead, he obtained a   
clean glass and poured the Whiskey straight from the bottle. He   
turned around and looked at her, "Thirsty?" She folded her arms   
and shook her head "no." He raised his glass, "Here's to you,   
Scully." He smiled and threw back his glass, taking a long   
draught of the liquor. "You know that's not going to help," she   
told him, point-blank.   
  
"Yeah," he answered, "but it sure beats the hell out of talking."   
  
"Listen, Mulder," she started, "why don't you put the drink down.   
I have some information regarding the case."   
  
"So do I," he answered, gesturing to the numerous files strewn   
about the bed and floor. "I brought them from Washington," he   
explained, "When Lauren first told me the facts regarding the case,   
I was reminded of some similar unexplained murders that were   
brought to my attention earlier this year."   
  
"What did you find out, Mulder?" she inquired, her head   
cocked to one side and her lips drawn into a slight, tight frown.   
  
"You first," he countered. His smile was an obvious facade, but   
Scully was not willing to test his stubborn nature.   
  
"Well," she began, slipping easily into the role of orator of   
scientific knowledge, "it appears that the asphyxiation was, in   
fact, due to the intense swelling of the epiglottis. The swelling   
initiated a cascade of biological events in which contact between   
the brain and the lungs was severed. Oxygen was unable to bypass   
the esophagus. The brain was deprived of oxygen for an extensive   
length of time, literally destroying the brain cells one by one."   
  
Mulder's sweet smile had rapidly disappeared, replaced with a   
stoic look of intellectual interest. "So what you're telling me,"   
he said to her, "is that what killed this girl was a giant case   
of choking."   
  
"In layman's terms, yes," she answered. She glanced once more at his   
ruffled appearance. Her view traveled slowly from his soiled socks,   
up his wrinkled pants and shirt, coming to rest on his face. Her   
gaze met his. Even after a steady night of drowning his sorrows, his   
face was still beautiful, filled with the handsome rigor of a   
passionate man leading a passionate quest. Feeling the uncomfortable   
tension in her veins, Scully turned her attention to the notes   
folded neatly in her hands. "It is analogous to the sensation   
you get when food 'goes down the wrong pipe,' only on an extreme   
level. By all accounts, the victims died within ten seconds of   
the initial swelling."   
  
"And what of the alcohol found in the victim's bloodstream?" he   
questioned, "Should we be staking out the bars for all the men   
out there who make an attempt to pick up a pretty woman?"   
  
"No," Scully answered, "the alcohol is not composed of ethyl   
groups, compounds that form the molecular basis for the products   
of fermentation, which comprise drinking alcohol. The alcohol   
appears to be the product of some sort of chemical reaction,   
perhaps caused as a side-product of whatever it was that   
caused the epiglottal swelling. I don't think I need to tell   
you, Mulder, that this is indicative of premeditated murder."   
  
"It's more than that, Scully," he said suddenly, dusting the   
sunflower seeds from the chair and onto the floor, "It's   
much more than that."   
  
She squinched her face in disgust of the sty-like conditions   
and looked at Mulder inquisitively, "Then what is it? What   
have you found?"   
  
Mulder picked up a stack of files from the floor and sat back   
down on the chair. He threw a couple in Scully's general   
direction. "Do you see anything that these girls have in   
common?" he questioned, raising the glass to his lips.   
Scully quickly leafed through the three files in her hands.   
  
"Other than the obvious, that we have three very beautiful,   
very dead women, no." She closed the files and threw them   
haphazardly on the floor. She felt that he was leading her   
to the threshold, but that he, himself, had already   
journeyed inside. It seemed he always knew the answers but   
contented himself by playing these games. She peered into   
his eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop.   
  
"The names, Scully," he said bluntly, "look at the names."   
Mulder pointed to the three files she had thrown on the   
floor, "Those were the most recent victims, Christina   
Andrews, Rene Bartholomew, and Erica James."   
  
"What do you mean, the most recent?" she asked, "Were   
there others?" He handed her the other stack of files on   
his lap, "Six others, to beprecise." Scully flipped through   
the stack, reading the last names of the victims aloud,   
"Judas, Johnson, Matthews, Phillips, Jameson, and Simone."   
She glanced up at him quickly. He could see that she   
understood and he nodded his head accordingly.   
  
"The Apostles," he stated matter-of-factly, "or derivations   
of their names. And look at the dates they were killed. The   
women are killed in threes, three deaths occurring over the   
span of four months, each dying of asphyxiation under   
similar circumstances."   
  
"And how many months have passed since the first murder?"   
she inquired.   
  
"Eight," he answered.   
  
Scully appeared despondent, "So that means that we have   
precisely four months to find a religious radical who   
intends to kill three women with the last names of Judas,   
Peter, and Thomas, or some derivation thereof?"   
  
"That's right," he answered, "shouldn't be too hard should   
it? Just your everyday Apocalypse." He smirked at her and   
chuckled allowed.   
  
"What is it?" she asked brusquely, half fearing the answer.   
  
"I was just thinking that we finally stumbled on a case that   
you are more prepared for than I. Faith, God, religion...I   
was just wondering what it's like to play the skeptic."   
  
Philadelphia Police Department   
7:46 A.M.   
  
Lauren Alvarez was seated at her desk. One hand lightly   
pressed against her cheek, supporting the weight of her   
elegant face. The other hand, fingers intertwined with a   
half-chewed pencil, nervously drummed against the well-  
polished wood. Her long, coal-colored hair fell in   
graceful tendrils below her shoulders. She uneasily stared   
out the window of her fourth-story office. The city looked   
so beautiful from this height, so peaceful. From up here   
she was oblivious, immune to the danger and destruction   
that daily traversed the streets below. The sunlight shone   
with an overwhelming warmth. She longed for the days of her   
youth, for the little bit of land from whence all of her   
memories sprang forth. There were no street lights there,   
no roads, no buildings - only green pastures that went on   
forever and lakes as blue as the summer sky.  
  
Her pleasant stream-of-consciousness was dolefully interrupted   
by the sound of three short knocks upon her door. "Come in,"   
she called, still rhythmically strumming her fingers upon   
the surface of the desk. The door opened, exposing the frame   
of Fox Mulder. She greeted him with a smile.   
  
"How are you, Fox?" she asked him. She crossed one of her long,   
slender legs over the other, drawing attention to the slim-  
fitting, blue skirt that graced her hips and accentuated her   
eyes. She thought she noticed his gaze depart from hers, if   
only for a brief second. She enjoyed this thought immensely.   
Her smile broadened as she recalled another distant memory:   
the excitement of the city, the smell of the rain as it soaked   
her clothes, his gentle, but firm touch...   
  
"Please sit down." She gestured to a comfortable-looking   
leather chair that graced the opposite side of her desk.   
Mulder gratefully returned her smile and advanced towards   
the chair, fully revealing for the first time his fiery,   
red-headed partner. Alvarez's smile began to fade as she   
glimpsed the immaculate Dana Scully enter. Stony and tight-  
lipped, she seated herself in the seat next to Mulder's. It   
appeared that this visit would not be for pleasure. Alvarez   
decided to get right down to business.   
  
"So, what have you found, Fox?" She listened to his harangue   
with little interruption from his partner. Lauren stared at her,   
hard, concentrating. What was the link between this skeptical,   
rational scientist and Mulder, the epitome of all unconventional   
thought? She squinted her eyes. Maybe there was something   
there more than partnership, more than friendship, perhaps?   
Scully certainly loved Fox. She could tell that right off the   
bat. Evaluating the lies of untold numbers of criminals had   
given her the ability to read the body language of the agent.   
The longing looks were certainly infrequent, but the eyes, the   
piercing, crystal, blue eyes completely gave it away. But what   
of him? Her attention focused on Fox as he continued his tale.   
His mouth was moving but she couldn't hear the words that were   
escaping his lips. Did he feel the same way about her? Even   
knowing him as well as she did, it was still difficult to be   
certain. He had become well adept at hiding his emotions. She   
shook the thoughts from her head and focused on what Fox was   
saying - something about the Apostles and a serial killer?   
She wasn't sure if she had heard correctly. "What was that,   
again?" she asked, interrupting his informational lecture.   
"Scully believes that the killer has been administering some   
sort of unknown toxin to these women. Nine have been found so   
far that have been killed in the same sort of conditions, all   
with last names that are derivatives of Apostalic names. We   
believe that in the next four months he will attempt to kill   
three more women."   
  
"And after that?" she interrupted again. She was not comfortable   
unless she was conducting the interrogation. She noticed that   
Agent Scully sent Fox a strange look, maybe one of precaution?   
She wasn't sure.   
  
"We don't know," he answered quietly, "maybe he'll rise again."   
His voice trailed away as the drumming of her fingers on the   
desk cascaded across the room.   
  
8:17 A.M.   
  
"Scully," Fox Mulder called to his partner who was now, by this   
time, a good ten feet in front of him, "Scully, hold up, where's   
the fire?" Following the meeting with Lauren, Scully had dashed   
from the elevator, chin up, eyes forward, and arms waving back   
and forth at her sides, synchronized with the motion of her gait.   
He thought she looked as though she was commissioned for some   
secret mission and carried the importance well on her dainty,   
but strong, shoulders. She continued on. Mulder had to jog in   
order to catch up with her. He grabbed her right arm and spun   
her around, forcing her to face him.   
  
"Scully, what's going on? Is something wrong?"   
  
Scully looked up at him. He took in the sight of her, chin   
quivering, eyes dilated. His eyebrows furrowed with concern.  
  
"Mulder," she said abruptly, "who is that woman?"   
  
Mulder was taken aback. "You know who she is, Scully," he   
answered, "Detective Lauren Alvarez of the Philadelphia Police   
Department." Scully scoffed in reply, turned, and began her   
steamy descent down the marble stairwell outside of the   
department building.   
  
"Scully," Mulder called to her again, "Scully!" He didn't   
have to catch up with her this time. She suddenly turned on her   
heels and faced him. Venom stained her lips as she released, in   
one instant, all of the pent-up emotions that she had held at   
bay since their departure from Washington.   
  
"Mulder," she repeated, "who is that woman?"   
  
"She's just a friend, Scully, a friend from my past. A woman   
who I trust with my life."   
  
"I don't trust her," she told him blandly, "I don't trust   
her at all. Were you or were you not present at that farce   
of a meeting? She doesn't give a damn about this case Mulder,   
or who will get hurt if she continues to neglect her office."   
  
The furrows of concern deepened into furrows of anger. The   
rage built up inside of him so rapidly that even he was caught   
off guard. "How can you say that, Scully? You don't know her   
at all. Do you know how much she wants to find this murderer?   
Probably more than you and I combined. For you and me this is   
a simple side job, but for her this is life. At the end of the   
day you can go home to your religion and I can go home to the   
X-Files, but she has nothing else."  
  
"Maybe that's the problem, Mulder," she countered, "Did you ever   
stop to think that maybe she wants something else in her life?"   
She looked at him accusingly.   
  
"Like what, Scully?"   
  
She paused, calming herself. Was he really that unaware of   
feminine affection? She sighed deeply and replied softly with   
force, "Like you, Mulder."   
  
He contemplated this possibility. It was certainly feasible.   
He remembered that night after the rain. Her tight, white shirt   
was soaked, her long, black hair curled slightly from the presence   
of the moisture. He remembered leaning in, feeling her tongue on   
his lips, she tasted so good. He remembered that she invited him in.   
He had held her between his arms. She felt as good as she looked.   
  
"Mulder?" Scully's voice pervaded his thoughts, "Mulder, why are   
you smiling?" He quickly gathered his composure, "Scully, whatever   
our past may have included, I am positive that it will not get in   
the way of this case." He forcefully grabbed her arms at the elbows,   
rubbing her soft skin between his fingers. His demeanor visibly   
changed. He was sorry, indeed, for the unfortunate outburst.   
"Scully," he seemingly cooed now, "you know where my heart lies,"   
she searched his eyes for an answer, "with the X-Files. I will never   
let anything come between that."   
  
Scully appeared crestfallen for a split second, but recovered   
quickly. She smiled at him, "That's all the assurance I need,   
Mulder."   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Four stories above, an unseen figure viewed the proceedings,   
watching the two partners engage in some form of disagreement.   
The curtains closed as the figure departed from the window,   
leaving the office in complete darkness.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
He watched as the tall man and his red-headed companion departed   
from the Philadelphia Police Department. He could tell that she   
was very upset about something. Their disagreement appeared as   
though it could be heard overtop of the already deafening din   
of the city street. What a strange contrast she put forth -   
such an angry look for an angelic face. But he could tell that   
she was just deceiving the public. The cross about her neck was   
no match for the sinful passion in her heart, as reminiscent of   
Lucifer as her fiery hair. He was a sinner, too. He reveled   
in sins of the flesh, coveting one woman after the next, but   
her especially. He could see that. The agent had no moral   
compass. He repeatedly put her life on the line, even though   
his feelings of desire for her were great. Yes, they would   
be forgotten on the Day of Judgment, sinners trampled beneath   
the hooves of the Four Horsemen. They would be made to suffer   
for their sins, he was sure of that. They would be the chosen   
ones that would bring about the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth.   
They would be made to suffer.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mulder watched as Scully departed. Her arms were still at her sides   
and her navy-colored suit accentuated the curves in her lovely   
hourglass-shaped figure. She looked good from behind, Mulder   
decided, damn good. He loved the way she looked, the way she   
walked. He especially loved the way she challenged him, contested   
him, forced him to look at his theories from another point of   
view, even if her science could not account for everything that   
they had both seen. He had thought of her, daydreamed about her.   
She pervaded his thoughts in the morning and his dreams at night.   
He wanted so desperately to act impulsively, to transgress the   
barriers that they both had set between their achingly platonic   
relationship. But he was waiting for something. He didn't know   
what it was but he needed to wait, of that he was certain. But   
if he were to express his feelings, would she reciprocate? He   
thought that she felt the same way he did. They had had warm   
moments; the infrequent touches, the long kiss at New Year's,  
all moments that had made him temporarily forget the horrors   
that they had been through. But even through those horrors,   
she was there. He had cried on her shoulder, and she on his.   
He had saved her life, and she, his. They had shared the loss   
of family and the loss of her ability to bear children. Now he   
wanted to celebrate a new loss, a loss of his propensity to be   
alone. He couldn't bear going home to that apartment by himself,   
waking up in the morning and not having her beside him. He had   
to do something, just what he was uncertain.   
  
His musings were interrupted by the sound of the ringing of his cell   
phone. He followed her figure until she disappeared into the   
distance, reached into his chest pocket, and produced his cell   
phone. He flipped it open, "Mulder."   
  
A familiar voice spoke softly from the other end of line.   
  
"Sure," he responded, "I'll meet you there." He closed the phone and   
replaced it in his pocket. He gazed one final time into the distance   
where Scully had withdrawn and then walked towards the garage w  
here he had left his rental car.   
  
Liberty Bell Inn   
10:22 A.M.   
  
"Please connect me to Assistant Director Skinner." Scully glanced   
around the room that had served as her home for the evening as she   
waited for the secretary to patch her call through. It reminded her   
vaguely of somewhere she had been before, but she couldn't quite   
put her finger on it. The off-white blanket that covered the double   
bed, the comely lamp that illuminated the small television set, it   
all looked so familiar.   
  
"Skinner," Scully heard the A.D.'s voice state brusquely.   
  
"Hello, sir," Sully responded. It was good to hear his voice. It was   
so odd, their relationship. When she was first assigned to the   
X-Files, she would never have imagined that Skinner would have   
become what she considered to be a friend. He had assisted her   
and Mulder countless times, at personal risk to his own position.   
She felt a kindred devotion to him. He was like a father to her,   
and their relationship followed suit, sometimes adversarial,   
but more often caring.   
  
"It's Scully. I wanted to bring you up to speed on the case. Mulder   
and I have connected the three murders in Philadelphia to six other   
murders. In each case, the women died of asphyxiation under similar   
circumstances. All of the women had last names that are derivatives   
of Apostalic names."   
  
"Do you have any theories on this point?" he interrupted.   
  
"Yes," Scully continued. She was well used to his interjections.   
"Agent Mulder believes that a religious radical is attempting to   
murder twelve women with Apostalic names, recreating martyrdom,   
perhaps in an attempt to become closer to Christianity."   
  
"Yes," he said, "but what do you believe?"   
  
"Honestly sir," she answered, "I'm not sure that I know. I believe   
that Agent Mulder's hypothesis is certainly plausible. On a more   
personal note, I have difficulty reconciling anyone who believes   
he is justified in connecting murder with a Christian   
rationalization."   
  
There was a significant pause at the other end of the line. "Agent   
Scully," Skinner said, "I need to ask you a question." He sounded   
tense. Scully was worried.   
  
"Go right ahead, sir," she responded.   
  
"What are you two doing there?" he asked, "I know that Mulder is an   
adept profiler but I really don't see any connection here to the   
X-Files." Scully bit her lower-lip. What are we doing here? She had   
asked herself the same question ever since their arrival in   
Philadelphia. She remembered their meeting with Detective Alvarez.   
She had flagrantly attempted to draw attention to herself the entire   
time. Scully knew the meeting wasn't about the case, but was about   
Mulder. She had seen the disappointment in Alvarez's eyes when she   
noticed that Scully would be present during the discussion.   
  
"Agent Scully?" Skinner invaded her thoughts.   
  
"Yes, sir," she answered, "Could you repeat the question?" 


	2. Purity Connection?

Il Ristorante Cantriosilla   
11:59 A.M.   
  
Fox Mulder sat at a table for two situated at the back of the  
restaurant. Next to the table, a large bay window overlooked a  
beautiful park with plentiful oaks and weeping willows.   
In the center was a large, marble fountain. Goldfish   
happily swam about, living out their lives in peaceful   
oblivion beneath the crystal-blue waters.  
  
Mulder adjusted his tie and checked his watch. Twelve o'clock. From  
the corner of his eye he saw two legs in a short, blue skirt approach  
his table and halt in front of him. He looked up and saw Lauren's  
supermodel features beaming back at him.  
  
"Long time, no see, stranger," she said, taking her   
seat opposite him. He smiled inwardly. Punctual as   
always, he thought to himself.  
  
"Nice to see you, too, Lauren," he replied as a waiter   
approached with a bottle of Red Merlow and angel-hair   
pasta, "I took the privilege of ordering for you." She   
smiled. She loved that about him, the way he just took   
charge of a situation. He liked to be in control.  
  
"Thank you, Fox," she said, "It looks delicious." She placed the  
pressed napkin atop her lap and crossed her legs.  
  
"It certainly does," he mumbled to himself, but inadvertent blushing  
revealed that she had overheard. She picked up her fork, spiraling  
the spaghetti about with her spoon.  
  
"It's been awhile since we've had a pleasant lunch, hasn't it Fox?"  
she said to him, sucking the pasta between her ruby-red lips and  
exposing her tongue.  
  
"It certainly has," he answered, pouring the Merlow into two wine  
glasses, "What has it been, seven, eight years?"  
  
"Nine, I think," she answered. She took a sip of the wine. "It's  
been a long time, Fox. Look at you, brilliant, although   
underestimated agent of the most prestigious agency in   
the United States."  
  
"You're not doing too bad yourself, Lauren," he responded, taking a  
bite of his lunch, "carrying out the work that you've longed for, a  
respected detective. What more could you possibly want for   
yourself?" She began to blush again.  
  
"Well, Fox," she said, "that is precisely the reason that I asked you  
here today."  
  
Mulder placed the fork on his plate and folded his hands. "What are  
you talking about, Lauren?" he asked her, "I thought you   
invited me to discuss the case?" She chuckled aloud, "Oh,   
Fox, did you really believe that I asked you to join me at   
a romantic, Italian restaurant just to talk business?"   
Mulder noticed for the first time the two candles that were   
perched in the middle of the table of the dimly-lit room. He   
thought about the discussion that he and Scully had had earlier   
in the day. Maybe she was right. Maybe this was a bad idea.  
  
Mulder started to respond, but Lauren held up her hands in an effort  
to silence him, "No, Fox, don't say anything. Just let me say what I  
need to say."  
  
Lauren took a deep breath as she replayed the dialogue that she had  
practiced in her mind on so many previous occasions. "Fox, there is  
something missing from my life. I've known it ever since I   
left you. I may have my work and my health, but I need someone   
to share my life with. I need you, Fox."  
  
He sighed, a long sigh of consternation and exhaustion. "Lauren," he  
said gently, "I don't think you know what you're saying. You   
left me,remember? You couldn't deal with, what was it that you   
said, 'my obsession with my sister,' remember?"  
  
"Oh, Fox," she interjected, "that was so long ago. I was only a girl  
then. I'm a woman now, a woman with needs and desires." She   
took his hand in hers. "I need you, Fox," she said, "I love   
you." Mulder shook his head and put his other hand over hers,   
"You don't love me, Lauren..."  
  
His words were cut short as she placed her forefinger over his lips,  
"Shhh," she cooed, "you don't need to say anything." She wrapped her  
hand around the back of his head, running her fingers through his  
hair. "Don't say anything." She pulled his face towards hers, and  
threw her lips over his, soft at first, but harder, and   
harder still. He responded at first, and for a split second   
it was like being with her all over again, like they were   
never separated. For a split second, he wanted her and   
kissed her back. In his mind's eye, however, he saw Scully   
arguing with him outside of the department. He saw her angry   
with him, fighting with him, fighting for him, and all of a   
sudden he drew back.  
  
"Lauren," he said, "I can't, we can't. This is wrong. I'm   
sorry, but I just don't feel the same way about you." He   
searched her face. She seemed upset, hurt.  
  
"Oh," she mumbled, "I'm so sorry, Fox." She got up awkwardly and  
stumbled from the table.  
  
"Lauren," he called to her, "Lauren, wait. We need to talk." He  
hurriedly got up from the table and ran after her. He opened the  
front door to the restaurant and looked both ways down the   
street, but she was nowhere in sight. Mulder put his hand   
on his hip and shook his head in disgust. "Way to go, Fox,"   
he said to himself and retraced his steps into the   
restaurant to pay the bill.  
  
Liberty Bell Inn   
4:13 P.M.  
  
Scully was startled from a restless sleep by the sound of   
three knocks upon the door.  
  
"Scully, it's me, open up."   
  
She lay on her side, still wearing the skirt and jacket of her black  
suit. She had fallen asleep so suddenly that she hadn't even   
had time to put on a change of clothes. The exhaustion caused   
by the late night at the morgue had finally settled in. Three   
more knocks, "Scully, are you there? Open the door."  
  
"Coming," she called, throwing her legs over the side of the   
bed. She stood up, smoothed out her suit, and checked herself   
in the small mirror beside the bed before advancing towards   
the door.  
  
"Jesus, Scully," Mulder scolded her, "what took you so long? I   
was out here knocking for five minutes. If I was Skinner, my   
head would have frost bite by now."  
  
"Mulder," she scoffed, curling the corners of her lips in response to  
the joke, "I could ask you the same thing. Where have you been?"   
Mulder's eyes averted her gaze. It seemed as though he was   
attempting to make up his mind about something. "Mulder?"   
Scully questioned again, "Where were you?"  
  
Mulder shook his head and decided to tell her the truth, "I went out  
to lunch with Lauren." Scully's demeanor instantly changed at the  
sound of Alvarez's name. Her eyebrow arched as she responded with a  
simple, "Oh?"  
  
"Yes, Scully," he answered jerkily. He felt for some strange reason  
that he owed her something resembling an explanation. His   
words began to get jumbled as he quickly endeavored to   
explain himself. "Right after you left, Lauren called,   
Scully. She asked me to meet her for lunch to discuss   
the case, but when I got there, well...she didn't really   
want to talk about the case. I think you were right, Scully,   
I think she..."  
  
Scully held up her hands in disgust. "Stop, Mulder," she   
told him, "I don't need to know about this. This isn't   
my business."  
  
"But, Scully," he started, "I want you to know..."   
  
"No," she interjected again, "I don't want to know." Scully shrugged  
her shoulders, "Besides, I need to talk to you about the case."   
Mulder seated himself on the edge of her bed. He looked tired. He  
stared at her through sad, weary eyes, "What do you want to tell me?"  
  
"I contacted Skinner today," she began, "I informed him of the  
progress we've made in regards to the connection between the murderer  
and religion. He wanted to know how much longer we planned on   
staying here."  
  
"And what did you tell him?" Mulder asked.   
  
"I told him that I wasn't sure," Scully responded, "but then I  
received a phone call from Agent Sykes in the microbiology unit. I  
sent the blood work of the victim to her after the autopsy and asked  
that she conduct the tests first thing. She told me that there is  
something very strange in her blood, something that she didn't feel  
comfortable telling me over the phone. Mulder, I need to return to  
Washington right away."  
  
Mulder slowly nodded his head. "I'll go with you, Scully," he told  
her, "There's nothing else to be done here for the moment."   
He yawned and lay back on the bed, arms folded behind his   
head. "I'm so tired, Scully," he confided.  
  
Scully sat next to him on the bed, "I know, Mulder, it's been a long  
day." He sat up and looked at her. Her face was inches from his.  
  
"Scully," he tried again, "I want to tell you what happened at lunch  
today."  
  
"Mulder," she said, "you don't owe me anything...," but he   
stopped her in mid-sentence.  
  
"No," he told her authoritatively, "I'm going to tell you something,  
something I've been trying to tell you for years."  
  
Scully braced herself. Her fingers clutched the edge of the bed  
tensely. She could feel her heart run a marathon in chest and her  
face began to feel flush. For years they had danced around the  
subject. There had been plenty of gentle flirtation on both sides,  
but neither had the inclination to make the first move, to test their  
relationship beyond the safe confines of friendship. Was this   
what he wanted? Was he going to make the leap of faith for   
which she wasn't prepared?  
  
"What is it, Mulder?" she asked anxiously. He fiddled nervously with  
his tie and took a deep breath.  
  
"Come on, Fox," he said to himself, "you can do this." He stared at  
her, long and hard, gaining strength from her beauty and  
determination. He prepared to initiate the most difficult discussion  
of his nearly seven-year relationship with his enchanting partner.  
  
"Working on this case with Lauren has brought back a lot   
of memories," he told her, "memories of happy times,   
memories of sad times, many, many memories." He smirked   
as scenes of her flashed through his mind. "She and I were,   
as you may have guessed, romantically involved seven years   
ago. I was just a young, naive agent, having come across   
the X-Files. After the dissolution of my relationship with   
Diana, I was heartbroken, wearing my heart on my sleeve. I   
stumbled into one relationship, well, I suppose you   
couldn't really call them relationships, after another.   
One night while browsing through the National Archives,   
I met Lauren. She was an intern at the F.B.I., doing   
profiling research for a serial killer that was terrorizing   
New York City. She was as young and passionate as I was,   
and we instantly clicked. In comparison to my relationship   
with Diana, my tryst with Lauren was much shorter, but just   
as exciting."  
  
He paused to take a breath. Scully opened her mouth to ask exactly  
what Lauren and his relationship had to do with her, but thought  
better of it. She inhaled and allowed him to continue.  
  
"Today Lauren asked me to lunch to discuss our past, and our  
collective future. She told me she loved me, that she   
wanted us to be together, that she needed me. She even   
tried to kiss me, and for a minute, I wanted to, too. But   
then I thought of you, Scully. I thought of how you warned   
me of her feelings. I thought of how you protected me   
against my own madness. I thought of your endless devotion   
to my cause, of all that you've given up to help me on my   
quest. I thought of how your brilliance saved my life after   
I was exposed to the alien virus. But most of all, I thought   
of how you are always there for me. I thought about how when   
you were abducted, and when you were injected with the virus   
from that bee sting, of how I could never imagine living   
without you."  
  
Scully swallowed hard. "Mulder," she said quietly, "I don't quite  
know what to say. I mean, you are so important to me. I couldn't  
imagine not having you in my life either. That's why I fought   
so hard when you almost died, I couldn't bear losing you."  
  
He smiled at her and looked about the room. "You know, Scully," he  
said, "it seems like every turning point in our relationship comes  
when we're sitting in one of these rink-a-dink motel rooms." A spark  
flew across Scully's brain. No wonder the room looked so familiar.   
It had the same set-up as the room in which she stayed while  
investigating her first X-File. A scene from her past flashed   
through her mind. It was the first time she met Mulder and   
they were investigating the strange deaths of teenagers in   
Bellefleur, Oregon. Mulder's talk of puncture wounds on the backs   
of abductees had frightened her into believing that she was   
abducted when she had experienced what he called "lost time."   
She had run into his room wearing only a bathrobe and had shown   
him three puncture wounds on her back. She recalled her relief   
when he explained that they were merely mosquito bites.  
  
She smiled fondly at him, "I remember," she said, "You had me  
convinced that I was going to turn out like Billy Miles."  
  
He chuckled, "It didn't take long before you were undressing yourself  
for me, did it Scully?"  
  
"Oh, Mulder," she cried, striking him lightly on his firm   
forearm. He grabbed for her hand as she struck the blow.   
He held it tightly, but sincerely. He gently stroked her   
knuckles with his thumb.  
  
"That night," he reminded her, "I bore my soul to you, a complete  
stranger. I explained to you about the fate of my sister   
and my quest to find out what had happened to her. Scully,   
I knew instantly that I could trust you. Even if you   
didn't believe in extraterrestrial life, you believed in me,   
and I believe in you."  
  
He shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't stop now. "Scully, Lauren's  
talk of love today forced me to recognize my own feelings, feelings  
that I've had for a long time but have never been able to express  
before. I don't love her, Scully, and she doesn't love me. I don't  
believe she knows what true love is, and I used to think that I never  
would experience it either. But now I know what love is, Scully,  
because you've helped me find it. All this searching for the truth,  
and I've been denying it for seven years now, burying it like the  
Syndicate buried the truth."  
  
Scully arched her eyebrow and shot him a quizzical look. "Mulder,  
what is it that you're trying to say?" she asked.  
  
Mulder breathed deeply and grabbed her other hand. He held them both  
up, supported by his. They looked as though they were standing   
at the base of an alter, professing their love for each other   
through vows of eternal devotion. "What I'm trying to say,   
Scully," he told her, "is that I love you."  
  
Scully looked aghast, mouth slightly ajar, eyes wide with fear and  
uncertainty. She was silent for what, to Mulder, seemed like an  
eternity. She lifted her palm and placed it against his forehead, as  
if checking for a temperature. "Mulder, are you feeling okay?" she  
asked him.  
  
"Well," he mumbled to himself, "that went well," and then to her, "I  
think I've alienated myself enough for one night." He stood up, "If  
you need me, I'll be next door...hanging myself." He gestured to the  
door and began to walk towards it.  
  
"Mulder, wait," she called to him, "Don't go. Please come sit down."   
He turned back to face her. He looked good, his long tie  
complementing his eyes. She patted the empty space next to   
her on the bed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to say.   
You kind of caught me off guard."  
  
He plopped down on the bed next to her. "No," he told her, "I'm  
sorry. That was something heavy to have just dropped in your   
lap like that." He started to stammer as his emotions began   
to get the better of him. "It's just that I'm sick of   
carrying out this charade day in and day out. I know how I   
feel, Scully, and I think that you feel the same way, too,   
but I need you to say it, to tell me how you feel about me."  
  
She sighed, a long sigh of distress and confusion.   
  
"Mulder," she said slowly, "this isn't anything new.   
Believe me, I've thought about the possibility of a   
relationship between us for quite some time. To be   
honest, I'm very much attracted to you, not just   
physically, but on an emotional level, as well." For   
once, her clinical detachment sounded so sweet to his   
ears. She continued, "You're intelligent, humorous,  
caring, passionate..."  
  
His smile began to deteriorate into a frown. "...but," he continued  
on her behalf.  
  
She took up the rest of the sentence, "...but I'm not sure if we  
should take our relationship to the next plateau."  
  
"Scully," he questioned, slight irritation arising unconsciously in  
his voice, "What exactly is it that you're afraid of?" He looked  
deeply into her eyes, hoping to find in them the truth to the deepest  
recesses of her soul. Scully nervously twitted her thumbs as she  
carefully prepared her every word.  
  
"I'm afraid of you, Mulder," she finally told him, "I'm afraid   
of what will happen when I become attached and you decide to   
leave. What would it be like if we could not remain friends?   
I just don't think that I could handle something like that."  
  
He took her hand in his. She had never before seen him so serious.   
Not even a smile penetrated his dower demeanor.  
  
"I would never let that happen, Scully," he said defiantly, "I would  
never risk losing the greatest partner or friend that I have ever  
known. But you cannot let your fear of the future stop you from  
fighting for something good, something so easily obtainable."  
  
She looked fondly at him, the man for whom she had given so much and  
gotten so much greater in return. His deep, hazel eyes penetrated  
every core of her being, and she finally knew in heart what was true.  
  
"Mulder, I do share your feelings. My feelings for you are so great  
that they are almost tangible, but I am still afraid..." He didn't  
let her finish the sentence.  
  
"Don't be," he told her, leaning in closer to her body. His lips  
inched along her face until they reached her ear. "There's   
nothing to be afraid of," he whispered to her, playfully   
twirling her soft, sweet-smelling hair between his fingers.   
He pulled back and once more peered into her eyes. She reached   
up, placing her palm aside his cheek as he coupled the nape of   
her tiny neck with his strong hand.  
  
"I'm not," she told him, for the first time fully assured, "not  
anymore."  
  
  
  
He saw the red-headed woman respond uneasily to whatever it was that  
her partner had confided in her. She had felt his head, causing him  
to rise and walk toward the door. He ducked behind a bush, hoping  
that his dark robes would render him impenetrable to the gaze of the  
lanky agent. He hid for several minutes until he was sure that   
it was safe. He summoned his courage and approached the window   
that peered into the tiny room. They were both sitting on the   
bed, now. He could feel their intentions, their longing. It   
was hot and sinful, like a burning iron branding an animal.   
She placed her hand on his face, and he, his on her neck. He   
watched as they drew closer, about to consummate their proud   
and dangerous transgression. He turned his head as the screech   
of tires forewarned an approaching observer. The headlights   
shone fiercely about him, like the column of fire that separated   
the Deliverer from impending doom at the hands of Pharaoh. He   
ducked from view of the window and advanced into the darkness.  
  
  
  
Scully leaned in, yearning to quench the fire in her lips. He pulled  
her closer with the hand placed so subtly behind her neck. "Mulder,"  
she breathed.  
  
"Scully," he softly replied. Her eyes widened as she caught the  
glimpse of a shadow at the window, illuminated by the headlights   
of an advancing vehicle.  
  
"Mulder," she cried louder, pointing to the figure, "someone's out  
there."  
Mulder turned his head violently, grabbing for the gun at   
his hip. He stood up and ran to the door. "I'll kill you,"   
he mumbled, angered more by the interruption than the threat   
of danger, "I don't care if it's J. Edgar, himself." He   
opened the door and surveyed the surroundings, looking left   
and right. He turned around and closed the door behind him.  
  
"Nobody's there, Scully," he told her, repositioning himself at her  
side, "Now where were we?"  
  
"Mulder," she cried, pushing his chest away with both hands, "I know  
what I saw. There was someone there."  
  
"Well," he said, a smile appearing at the corners of his   
mouth, "maybe we ought to give him a good show, what do   
you say?" It was no use. The interruption had effectively   
destroyed the mood and any chance he had for getting closer   
to her.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mulder," Scully told him apprehensively, "but I'm tired.   
I think I'd like to go to bed. We have to fly back to Washington  
early tomorrow." She threw him a ticket for the 7:30 A.M.   
flight back to D.C. that she had bought earlier in the day.   
"See you bright and early," she told him, advancing towards   
the door to walk him out. Mulder got up from the bed and took   
one final look at Scully as he walked dejectedly to his room   
to spend another night alone.  
  
J. Edgar Hoover Building   
March 26, 2000  
9:00 A.M.   
  
The plane ride back had been hell. She couldn't recall why she had  
decided to place their two seats next to each other. Then she  
remembered. She had purchased them before Mulder so   
genuinely smeared his feelings like a doormat for her to   
step on. She recalled that his sarcasm when she had asked   
for the window seat was more abrasive than usual: "Why   
bother, Scully? It's not as though you'll see anything   
of interest that cannot be explained away by scientific   
means. It's a warm, sunny day, I'm sure there's plenty of   
weather balloons floating around just waiting to be   
mistaken for U.F.O.'s."  
  
She was used to the droll humor, that was normal. It was the silence  
that she had trouble reconciling. For as long as she had known him,  
Mulder was hardly recognized as someone who could remain silent for  
more than two minutes at a time. But he had remained silent the  
entire hour that it took to land at Dulles, excluding of course some  
rather suggestive comments to the flight attendant after having  
one-too-many shots of Absolut.  
  
She couldn't stand him being angry with her, but she could hardly  
blame him either. What was barring her from acknowledging her  
feelings? Sure, she had told him that those feelings existed,   
but she was hardly entirely truthful. If she could have acted   
impulsively, even for one moment, she would have torn off that   
tie and thrown him down onto the bed...but she just couldn't do   
that. No, she had to think of all the reasons why a relationship   
between them wouldn't work out. Mulder was right, she needed to   
stop thinking, to stop ending the relationship before it was even   
initiated. If she were to not allow anything to happen between   
them, it would be like failing before any difficulties were even   
broached.  
  
"Agent Scully?"   
  
Her decision about Mulder would have to wait for another day. Agent  
Sykes was addressing her. Scully was standing in the microbiology  
unit of the F.B.I., patiently lingering about to view what it   
was that was so important that it could not be spoken of over   
the telephone.  
  
"Yes," Scully answered, "It's nice to see you, Agent Sykes.   
It's good of you to have run the tests so quickly."  
  
"You're very welcome," Sykes replied, "but I should be thanking you.   
I feel very privileged to have been brought in on this case." Sykes  
ushered her into a secluded room at the back-right corner of the  
office. Scully noticed that Sykes had locked the door behind her and  
closed the blinds of the large, front windows. She cradled a manila  
folder in her arms, like the mother of a newborn child. Scully shot  
her a questioning look.  
  
"What is it, exactly that you found?" she asked.   
  
"I think you had better sit down," Sykes responded, tossing   
the folder lightly on top of her desk as she took her seat.   
Scully's eyes widenedas a familiar name leapt from the pages.  
  
"Purity Control," she read aloud.   
  
Mouth slightly agape, Scully's gaze turned quickly from the papers on  
the desk to Agent Sykes, herself. "How do you know about Purity  
Control?" Scully asked her, and then scolded herself for questioning  
to rashly.  
  
"Please sit down, Agent Scully," Sykes beseeched her, "and I   
will tell you the whole story of my involvement."  
  
Scully obliged, taking the seat opposite Sykes and folded her hands  
carefully on the desk. She looked up through wary eyes and urged the  
agent forward, "Please continue."  
  
"Do you recall the name Dr. Anne Carpenter, Agent Scully?" Sykes  
asked.  
  
"Of course," Scully responded without a moment's hesitation, "Dr.  
Carpenter was head of the Georgetown University Microbiology  
Department. She aided me in an investigation regarding...regarding  
the homicide of a scientist working in developing gene therapy."   
Sykes arched her left eyebrow as Scully shuffled uncomfortably in her  
chair. She felt like the victim of some voyeuristic joker, like  
cameras were set up at each angle of the room in order to record her  
every word. Her gaze diverted this way and that, plagued by the  
thought of unseen eyes watching her movement.  
  
"What you meant to say," Sykes corrected her, "is that Dr. Carpenter  
aided in an investigation regarding Purity Control, that she assisted  
you in analyzing the sample and in doing so discovered an extra base  
pair that she defined as extraterrestrial in origin. This base pair  
contributed to the formation of a fifth and sixth nucleotide in the  
sample's genome, and for some unknown reason, several gaps existed in  
the sequence itself." Scully took in a deep breath, wondering   
exactly how much she should trust this woman who seemed to know   
as much, if not more than she. Scully braced herself for the   
windfall.  
  
"If I may be so bold, Agent Sykes, how is it that you came by this  
knowledge?" she inquired.  
  
"Hours before she was in the accident, Dr. Carpenter called me. She  
informed me of what she had found, that she believed that by   
acquiring such knowledge she had endangered the life of   
herself and her family. She was under the impression that   
she was being followed. She saw shadows wherever she went.   
I, of course, thought that she was suffering from deep   
paranoia, but the deaths of her and her family...Well, I   
suppose it turns out that her paranoia was well founded."   
Sykes shrugged her shoulders, "Anyway, Dr. Carpenter told  
me that if she were to die that I should be alert to any   
specimen that would turn up in the future. She told me to   
follow your work closely, Agent Scully. I suppose you   
assisted me in that respect by contacting me. At any rate,   
I have a vested interest in seeing this through. You see,   
Agent Scully, Dr. Carpenter was my sister and I am convinced  
that her accident was no accident, that she was, in fact,   
murdered for her discovery of the base pair in Purity   
Control."  
  
Scully digested what Sykes had told her. "I understand what you have  
confided in me, Agent Sykes," she began, "but what   
does Purity Control have to do with the blood samples   
that I sent to you?"  
  
"That's just it, Agent Scully," she answered, "the genome isolated in  
the blood samples is identical to that of Purity Control, with one  
minor exception."  
  
"And what would that exception be, Agent Sykes?" Scully asked, still  
unsure if she was being fed lies.  
  
"Like I said," Sykes told her, "the genome that comprised Purity  
Control contained gaps, missing base pairs in the sequence, something  
completely unheard of in any organic organism found here on Earth.   
Annie was attempting to divine the reason for this before her   
untimely death. She had little success, but she was able to   
hide a sample away so that I might carry on her work. For   
the past six years I have tested and analyzed every pair in   
the genome and have come to the following conclusion: the   
chemical composition, that is, the elements that comprise   
the base pairs found in Purity Control, are unknown in origin   
and are highly electronegative. In fact, they are twice as  
electronegative as the strongest electronegative Earth   
element, fluorine. You are aware of what causes   
electronegativity, are you not, Dr. Scully?"  
  
"Yes," Scully answered, feeling as though she was back in the  
classroom, waiting anxiously for permission to begin her chemistry  
exam, "electronegativity is essentially a pull of electrons from a  
chemical bond. It is a property of an element whereby an atom  
attempts to become more stable by obtaining the fullest amount of  
electrons possible in one orbital, eight to be precise."  
  
"That is correct, Agent Scully. I can see that all of those years of  
acquiring medical knowledge were not lost on you." Sykes smiled  
warmly at her as she continued the briefing, "It seems that the  
elements present in the nucleotides of Purity Control are so  
electronegative that the electrons of one nucleotide effectively   
repel the electrons of the neighboring nucleotide. Compounded   
with the already highly negative phosphate and deoxyribose   
backbone, this leaves no possibility for stabilization   
within that region in nature, generating the gap in the genome.   
In other words, the gap between nucleotides is twice that of   
the organic Earth gap. Only after this interval are the   
electrons far enough apart that the charge becomes dissipated   
enough to have another base pair." Scully sighed, unsure of   
what to believe. She had been misled so many times in the   
past, she just hoped that this time an investigation would   
bear fruit. She said to Sykes, "That is all extremely   
interesting, but you still have yet to tell me what is the   
difference between Purity Control and the blood samples."  
  
"Agent Scully," she answered, "the blood samples that you sent to me  
contain the extra base pair, the fifth and sixth nucleotide, but   
there is no gap between them."  
  
Scully countered, "But I thought you said that there is no   
conceivable stabilization if two nucleotides were adjacent   
to each other."  
  
"I said in nature, Agent Scully." Sykes looked at her hard, waiting  
for her to grasp the serious nature of what she was saying.  
  
Scully's eyes widened as she realized what the doctor was intimating,  
"But that would mean..."  
  
Agent Sykes nodded her head in profound silence. "Yes,   
Agent Scully," she completed the thought for her, "That   
would mean that someone has figured out how to control   
the sequence, that someone has genetically engineered   
Purity Control to alleviate the gaps, and that your murder  
victim is the product of this genetic engineering."  
  
  
  
"Mulder," the voice greeted her gruffly from the other end. She had  
let the phone ring seven times and was about to hang up when he  
finally answered.  
  
"Mulder, it's me," she answered, relieved at finally hearing   
his voice after accepting his harsh sentence of silence,   
"where are you?"  
  
Mulder watched himself in the mirror behind the counter. He watched  
as the reflection raised its cell with one hand and a glass in the  
other. His hair was disheveled and all that remained of his   
mandatory suit ensemble was a wrinkled, uncuffed, Oxford shirt   
and a pair of gray pleated pants. "I'm washing my hair, Scully,"   
he told her, a mixture of relief and anger at hearing her voice  
so soon after their little heart-to-heart, "where are you?"  
  
"I'm at the Bureau's Microbiology Department," she answered, "and  
there is something that I need to discuss with you in person."  
  
"Working on your chemistry, Scully?" he asked her, draining the glass  
until all that remained were the "rocks" to his scotch.  
  
She couldn't help but scoff. 'I suppose I deserve that,'   
she thought.   
  
"You're partially right, Mulder," she answered coolly, dismissing the  
usual obligatory reprimand for fear of angering him further.  
  
"Well, spill it, Scully. What is it that's so important?"   
"I can't tell you over the phone," she replied, "Meet me at my place  
in an hour." Normally the offer to come to her place would have  
inspired some suggestive commentary but now...he wasn't sure. Mulder  
stumbled clumsily to his feet and dug in his pocket for some rumpled  
bills. Upon throwing them on the counter, he departed into   
the night.  
  
Dana Scully Residence  
10:00 A.M.   
  
"Once more, Scully, this time in English." Fox Mulder was seated on  
Scully's comfortable, cream couch in her cozy apartment. His long  
legs rose nearly to his chin and his elbows rested lightly on his  
kneecaps. His head felt like a lead ball and the only thing capable  
of providing a modicum of support were the palms of his strong hands.  
  
Scully entered the living room carrying a mug filled with   
black coffee between both hands. "You know, Mulder," she   
berated him, "this would all be a lot easier to understand   
if you weren't suffering from a severe hangover."  
  
He looked up at her, his hazel eyes dancing with boyish mischief  
despite his tired condition. "Thank you Dr. Scully," he replied,   
"but somehow I don't believe that."  
  
Scully feigned shock and dismay, "What are you saying, Mulder? That  
you don't believe that science will provide easy answers?"  
  
Mulder chuckled in spite of himself, smiling like the master who  
foresees checkmate in the movement of his apprentice, "I want to  
believe."  
  
Scully's smile betrayed her affection. "At least he's talking to me  
again," she thought, "at least that's something." She placed the mug  
on the coffee table in front him and watched as he took a couple of  
swigs.  
  
"Feeling better?" she asked.   
  
"Couldn't feel better if it rained hearts and honeybuns," he   
responded dryly. He took another gulp of coffee. "Why don't   
you just tell me what you found again," he asked her, "but this   
time slooowwwlllyyy..."  
  
Scully picked up the manila envelope that lay beside the mug on the  
coffee table. She had confiscated it from Dr. Sykes, warning   
her that if she kept it, they might dispose of her and the   
evidence as they did her sister. Sykes initially protested,   
but finally relented, realizing that the only way to bring   
her sister's killer to justice was to live and to work with   
the two agents. Scully opened the folder and explained the   
contents -slowly- to Mulder. After a solid half hour, she   
was sure that he had fully grasped the meanings of   
extraterrestrial elements, nucleotides, and electronegativity.   
Sure, it took a little longer than usual, but she had to admit,   
he was the sharpest damn drunk that she had ever met.  
  
After the crash course in biochemistry, Scully closed the file  
excitedly. "Do you know what this means, Mulder?" she asked him,  
"This means that we finally have hard evidence, conclusive scientific  
facts that prove what is going on here."  
  
"And what is going on here, Scully?" he asked, anticipating her  
answer.  
  
She didn't know how to respond. The evidence was there, like she  
said, but was she to believe it? "I don't know exactly, Mulder. But  
what I do know is that genetic engineering has brought about the  
fusion of the Purity Control and human genomes, and that fusion  
product was found to comprise the genetic makeup of the victim."  
  
"And I'm willing to bet the farm that it's found in the other   
victims, as well," he told her.  
  
"Mulder," she asked, "do you really believe that?"   
  
His eyes, more lucent now than the previous half hour, shone with the  
intense excitement that appeared whenever he began to connect two and  
two together. "Guess what time it is, Scully?" he asked her.  
  
She looked at the beautiful gold-encrusted watch on her left hand.   
It had been a Christmas present from her mother that came with the   
cute little note "Don't forget to take some time for yourself, Dana."  
  
"It's nearly 10:30, Mulder," she answered.   
  
"Wrong, Scully," he told her, "It's just about that time where   
you and I roll up our sleeves and get digging."  
  
"What are you talking about, Mulder?" she asked, worried that   
he still wasn't over the effects of his early morning binge.  
  
"It's exhumation time, Scully," he answered, "You bring the coffee,  
I'll bring the shovels." He stood up from the couch, grinning   
through the pain in his head, "And you say I never take you   
anywhere." 


	3. The Strength of My Beliefs

St. Anne's Cemetery   
5:52 P.M.   
  
Mulder stood by an open grave, patiently waiting for the enormous,  
yellow crane to finish pulling the casket from the ground.   
The gentle crescent moon shone brightly on the proceedings,   
a misplaced light in the midst of the dark of dusk. He   
looked much better now, even somewhat well-rested. The   
wrinkled shirt and pants were replaced with his usual   
working outfit: well-pressed shirt, gray pants, gray   
jacket, monochrome tie. Over his suit was a long,   
jet-black duster that flowed past his long legs to his   
knees. His hair was neatly combed back and the only   
sign of his drinking exploits were the remnants of barely   
noticeable thin, red lines in his eyes. He reached into   
his pocket and produced a handful of sunflower seeds as   
Scully approached from the darkness.  
The headlights from the crane illuminated the highlights in her  
beautiful hair. She looked professional as always -elegantly bearing  
a dark, form-fitting pants-suit- but damn good, he decided.   
He popped a couple seeds in his mouth as she halted in front   
of him.  
  
"What'd she say?" he asked her.   
  
"Alvarez said that she would work on getting permission for the  
exhumation of the other two women that were killed in her  
jurisdiction," she answered, grazing quickly over the name of the  
esteemed detective, "The other five victims lie buried in various  
locations throughout the east coast ranging from Maine to Maryland.   
I have contacted Bureau agencies in each of those states and have  
arranged for the exhumations. They will notify me as soon as they  
have collected the samples."  
  
She sighed a deep sigh of weariness. She was worn out after having  
spent the day being bounced around from one government lackey to  
another. But her day wasn't over yet. She knew what would come   
next. She would spend hours working on the body and after that,   
there would be the blood work of not just one dead girl, but nine   
all together. He had been busy, too, of course. He spent the   
entire afternoon attempting to get permission for the exhumation   
of the only victim buried in D.C.. Still, she noticed with some   
degree of bitterness that he had managed time to shower, shave,   
and dress. She looked down at herself, still wearing the same   
clothes from her meeting with Dr. Sykes. "I need a long, hot   
bath," she thought to herself.  
  
"Good," he replied simply, and "Ah...here we go, now the fun begins"  
as the casket was lifted from the earth and placed on a waiting  
gurney. Four medics placed the casket into the back of an ambulance,  
secured it, and closed the doors behind it. "Let's go, Scully,"  
Mulder commanded as he jumped into his government-issue automobile.   
Scully complied and soon the two were following the ambulance   
at close range, driving in deafening silence towards Quantico.  
  
Quantico Medical Facility   
6:13 P.M.   
  
Scully pulled at the microphone that hung from the ceiling of the  
frigid examining room, drawing it closer to her mouth. The room was  
immaculate. The white-washed walls had recently been scrubbed   
and the powerful stench of chlorine indicated the complete   
absence of contamination. She had become so used to that smell   
through the years of her intense training. It had become   
second nature, a hollowed ground that made her feel secure   
in her medical abilities. It was medicine that made her feel   
in control whenever Mulder's paranoia seemed to suggest that   
others within the government contained complete power over   
her and all of the rest of the civilians on Earth.  
  
"Victim is a twenty-seven year old Caucasian female," she began,  
initiating the examination, "Extent of decomposition suggests   
that she has been dead for well over two weeks. No signs of   
sexual assault are implicit on the exterior of the body, no   
bruising or other abuse. The removal of the right eye and a   
single incisor is consistent with the supposed ritualistic   
murders of the three victims in Philadelphia. Forty puncture   
wounds on the body lend credence to this theory." She reached   
for the charts containing the victim's information produced  
from the initial autopsy after her death. They had been faxed   
over from the D.C. morgue earlier that day and now lay on the   
linoleum counter at her side. "Coroner's report states that   
victim died of asphyxiation due to unknown circumstances.   
Toxicology shows an abnormal presence of alcohol in her system   
days after she was found dead." Scully picked up the tools   
that lay on a cart beside the examination table and prepared   
to make the first incision. "I will now reopen the stitches,"   
she said into the microphone, and then under her breath, "Okay,   
let's see what you're hiding." She leaned in to make the cut   
when a voice from behind startled her into cognizance.  
  
"Agent Scully?"   
  
Tools in hand, Scully turned around and faced the young, light-haired  
agent.  
  
"Agent Scully," he repeated from behind his almost  
too-neat-for-protocol suit, "there's a call for you on line one."  
  
"Thank you," Scully called, "I'll be right there." She placed the  
tools back on the cart and flipped the switch on the microphone   
to the "Off" position as the agent departed into the hallway.   
She placed her surgical gloves in the nearest trashcan and went   
across the hall to pick up the line.  
  
"Scully," she said, twirling the cord listlessly between her   
fingers. No one responded. "Scully," she said again, this   
time with more force. Once again, there was no answer.   
"Is anyone there?" she asked and after gaining no response   
for a third time, she slammed the phone back on the hook.   
She was shaking her head as she re-entered the examining  
room. Her anger quickly turned to shock as her brain began   
to process exactly what she was viewing: nothing. The body   
was gone.  
  
  
  
"And then I came back and she was gone." Scully had just finished  
telling Mulder of the strange phone call and the body-napping as tens  
of agents scampered crazily throughout the hall. "Mulder," she asked  
him, "How does a body simply disappear? I was gone for less than a  
minute. I don't know how someone could manage sneaking a body out of  
here in that short amount of time, nor do I know why anyone would   
have the inclination."  
  
"They're hiding something, Scully," he told her, "They're hiding  
something and  
I think you know why."   
  
"Purity Control," she answered.   
  
He nodded his head, "That's right, Purity Control. They're afraid of  
exposing the truth, Scully."  
  
"The truth about what, Mulder? We hardly know anything. All we know  
is that a woman was murdered in Philadelphia with the genetic makeup  
of Purity Control and that she may be connected to the murder of this  
woman in Washington. But how do we know that for sure? We have no  
proof now to make that connection. I was barely able to start the  
autopsy. I didn't even get the opportunity to take a blood sample.   
How are we going to perform a genetic comparison?"  
  
Mulder brushed past her and crouched onto the floor near the head of  
the examination table. "They didn't get everything, Scully," he told  
her, picking up a piece of black hair between his thumb and  
forefinger. He stood up as Scully appeared at his feat. "Looks like  
you're going to get that scientific proof after all," he told her,  
"now the question is are you ready to face the truth?"  
  
6:32 P.M.   
  
Scully pushed the "Fast Forward" button on the VCR as Mulder rejoined  
her in the surveillance room. "How's it going, Scully?" he   
asked her.  
  
"I've almost found it, Mulder. I'm up to 5:40 now," she told   
him, and then asked, "Did you get a trace on the phone number   
of my mystery caller?"  
  
"I couldn't, Scully," he replied, "your mystery caller doesn't   
exist." She shot him a quizzical look. "What are you talking   
about?" she asked him.  
  
He pulled up a vinyl chair and sat down at her side. "The phone  
records show no evidence of an incoming call," he said, "Whoever made  
that call placed it internally, from somewhere in the same hall that  
contains the examination rooms."  
  
She gazed at him as he stared intently at the television screen.   
"Push 'Play'," he commanded her, "we're up to 6:12. He should be  
making an appearance right about...now." Mulder pointed at the male  
figure with light hair as the camera caught him walking through the  
door behind a crouched Scully. "Does anyone recognize this man?" he  
asked the various agents and surveillance men that had congregated in  
a semicircle behind the pair. Mulder turned around in time to see  
every man shake his head "no." He turned back and faced Scully.   
"Can you get me a printout of this guy," he asked her.  
  
"Sure," she answered, "I'll take care of it, Mulder, but what good  
will it do? He never once looks up at the camera. All we have to go  
on is a Caucasian male of average height that has light, sandy hair.   
That description could fit any number of men in the D.C. area, let  
alone the eastern shore."  
  
"Yeah, Scully," he countered, "but how many of those men are walking  
around with a woman who has been dead for eight months?"  
  
Scully's ears perked at this last remark. "Eight months," she asked,  
not sure if she had heard him correctly, "Mulder, did you say   
that she had been dead for eight months?"  
  
"Yes," he said matter-of-factly, "eight months. The girl you were  
performing the autopsy on was named Katrina Judas. She was the very  
first victim, killed in D.C. eight months ago next week." He stared  
at her with a look of mock dejectedness, "You can check her file if  
you don't believe me."  
  
"Mulder, there was no more than two weeks worth of decomposition  
present on that girl," she said, her eyes widening with dismay and a  
twinge of fear, "how is that possible?"  
  
"I'm guessing good genes," he answered.  
  
J. Edgar Hoover Building   
March 27, 2000  
12:20 A.M.   
  
Scully contemplated the discussion she had had earlier that day with  
Mulder in the surveillance room. What were the ramifications   
of these tests, the fusion of unknown and human genomes? She   
thought about all she had faced because of Purity Control,   
because of the X-Files. There was the death of Deep Throat.   
Although she hadn't known him as well as Mulder, his death   
still affected her deeply. He had died in her arms, warning   
her with his last dying breath to "Trust no one." Then there   
was the terrible kidnapping by Duane Barry. She still couldn't   
remember exactly what happened during her mental absence. It  
was locked away somewhere deep in her memory. Maybe they   
ordained it that way, or maybe she simply didn't want to   
remember. She was so relieved to have been brought back from   
an early death, brought back by the love of her mother,   
Melissa...and Mulder...only to have discovered that damn chip   
in the back of her neck. Then the terror started. She faced   
death a second time upon the removal of the chip as she   
developed the cancer. Then she found out that her eggs had   
been removed, leaving her barren. Compared to everything else,   
this was by far the worst blow. She had always held a special   
place in her heart for children. She desired a baby more than   
anything else, watching her god-child and her nephew grow up   
with the slightest bit of envy. But eventually she was forced   
to face the realization that her fondest dreams could never be   
achieved. And then Emily appeared. Her precious child, born   
from the experiments that had taken away her hopes of carrying   
a little baby of her own. But those barbaric tests destroyed   
her in the end, too, just like they destroyed everything else   
in her life. Except Mulder. The Smoking Man had tried to  
destroy him on several occasions, both physically and   
emotionally, but he had never succeeded. Scully knew that   
Mulder blamed himself for everything that happened in her life   
since she was assigned to the X-Files, and sometimes she   
couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if she had   
never walked into that dingy basement.  
  
But then she would have never met Mulder, and that was something most  
unacceptable. He was at once the craziness and stability she needed  
in her life. He was her constant, her touchstone when the world  
seemed too difficult. And now he had told her that he loved her. "I  
will talk to him," she decided, "after all of this is over, I will  
tell him the truth, tell him how I really feel. I will tell him that  
I cannot imagine my life without him in it, that as difficult as it  
was going to be, not just for me, but for the both of us, that all I  
really want is for him to take me in his strong arms and make me feel  
safe."  
  
"Agent Scully," the voice of Dr. Sykes startled her from her reverie,  
"the tests are in. Would you mind following me into my office?"   
Scully complied and advanced once more into the doctor's familiar  
surroundings.  
  
"What did the gel show?" Scully asked. Dr. Sykes simply handed her  
the thin piece of paper that contained numerous numbers and   
black bars representing the genetic code found in the hair   
sample. Scully compared it to the second sheet that Sykes   
handed her.  
  
"They're the same," she said simply, "genetic matches," but the look  
on her face betrayed the terror that she felt, not just because   
of the genetic experimentation that was being conducted, but as   
a religious woman whose faith in the certainty of the soul was   
being tested the more she continued the investigation.  
  
"Almost identical," Dr. Sykes said, "but mutations...err...rather  
alterations have been made in the chromosomes that are   
responsible for physical features, hair, eye color, et cetera."  
  
"So," Scully said, processing what this information all meant, "the  
two women are genetically the same person, clones, except for the way  
they look." Dr. Sykes nodded her head.  
  
"And that means," Scully finished the thought without realizing how  
Mulder-like she was beginning to sound, "that someone wants them to  
look differently, but why?"  
  
9:48 A.M.   
  
Scully took the keys from her purse and prepared to unlock the door  
leading to her office, but it was already open. She deftly replaced  
them in her already much-too-overcrowded handbag and turned the knob  
to the basement room. She was quickly greeted by Mulder who   
looked as if he had spent the entire night in that very room.   
She remembered how after she had finally left the Microbiology   
Department, she had settled into her bed, muscles aching from   
weariness. But there was too much on her mind and getting to   
sleep proved more difficult than anticipated. She tossed and   
turned for what seemed an eternity until sweet sleep finally   
overcame her.  
  
She threw her belongings in a pile on his small desk. "What are you  
doing here already, Mulder?" she asked, although she was pretty sure  
that she knew what the answer would be.  
  
"I've been going through all of the files of the victims,   
tracking the movement of the killer through the eastern   
coastal states. How did the tests go last night?"  
  
She handed him the gel results. He placed one overtop of the other.   
"They're the same," he said, and then asked, "What does that mean?"  
  
"That means, Mulder, that the latest victim in Philadelphia and the  
first victim in D.C. contain the exact same DNA, that they're genetic  
clones of one another. No two humans have the same DNA in nature,  
Mulder, excepting identical twins. Normally I would say that these  
two women must be twins of one another but there was a discovery made  
by Dr. Sykes that leads me to believe otherwise."  
  
"And what is that, Scully?" he questioned.   
  
"Dr. Sykes was able to analyze every section of the genetic code of  
Purity Control over the past six years, Mulder, and with the  
advancement of the Human Genome Project, she was able to   
determine the sites of DNA that contain the chromosomes   
responsible for physical features, eye color, hair color,   
et cetera. The DNA analyzed in both of the victims shows,   
like I said, the exact same genetic code except for the base   
pairs that code for physical features."  
  
"So what are you telling me, Scully?" he asked her, "That whoever,   
what was it you said, fused Purity Control with humans has been able  
to manipulate the genetic code to change physical features?"  
  
Scully hesitated. "I don't know, Mulder," she finally said, "that  
kind of technology is supposed to be at least a couple of   
decades down the road, but I guess we'll know more once we   
get the results of the tests from the other victims."  
  
Mulder shook his head angrily, like one who was not about to be  
defeated. "Not gonna happen, Scully," he said, doing his best Dana  
Carvey impression of President George Bush. He changed his   
voice back to his normal intonation in order to address the   
severity of his next comment, "They bodies are missing, Scully,   
every single one. They were all stolen last night."  
  
Scully pulled out her chair from its normal position in front of his  
desk and sat down. "Stolen," she repeated, her words a mixture   
of disbelief and awe. Her eyes widened, amplifying the   
azure-ocean quality of their hue. "Mulder, how do nine   
bodies just disappear?" she asked him,"It's simply not   
possible."  
  
He opened his mouth and prepared to answer the question but Scully  
held up her hands in a seeming gesture of defeat, preempting any  
far-fetched theory that he might feel obliged to develop. "Even if  
'someone' wanted to disappear nine bodies," she said, "how could they  
possibly discover our intentions to exhume the bodies, and  
furthermore, how could they pull off such a massive grave-robbery in  
so many different states in one night? Without anyone   
seeing a thing? It's simply not possible."  
  
"Scully," he softly chided, a thin smile appearing vaguely on his  
lips, "I thought that by now you'd be a little more open to extreme  
possibilities."  
  
She curled her mouth in a tight circle of disapproval as   
he continued.  
  
"At any rate, I finished reviewing the tapes from all of the  
surveillance cameras in Quantico. After you left the room to answer  
the phone, the Yellow-Headed Man made another appearance. He was  
dressed in medical garb so it was relatively easy to bypass any  
guardsmen. Apparently he fit in so well that nobody saw him come in  
or go out, besides you and the cameras, of course. He covered the  
body with a sheet and rolled it onto a gurney into an elevator."  
  
Mulder stood up from his chair and pushed "Play" on the television  
that sat conveniently ready for viewing in the corner of the room.   
Scully viewed the Yellow-Haired Man on the elevator camera, and then  
in some sort of garage as the image changed over. "The elevator led  
to the basement floor, the parking lot, where an ambulance was   
waiting to carry the body." He pointed to the time recorded by   
the camera in the left corner of the screen. "6:14 P.M.," he   
said matter-of-factly, "Just like you said, Scully, the   
body-napping was executed in less than a minute."  
  
A troubled look crossed her face. "There's something that bothers me  
about this, Mulder," she told him.  
  
"You mean other than the fact that there are nine missing dead clones  
with the genetic makeup of extraterrestrial elements?"  
  
"Yes," she replied with a sneer. Almost instantly her expression  
became serious again, "The Yellow-Haired Man never once looks up at  
the camera. It's almost like he knows that he's being watched."  
  
"I thought of that," Mulder replied, "Coupled to the fact that he was  
able to gain access to both Quantico and an ambulance, I'd say that  
chances are pretty good that he's a worker there."  
  
"But Mulder," she reminded him, "you just said that no one in that  
facility remembers ever seeing him."  
  
He had to smile. She never ceased to disappoint him. He began to  
wonder if there would ever come a time when she would just accept   
what he told her on blind faith alone. He chuckled to himself,   
knowing full well that today would not be that day.  
  
"Maybe it wasn't him that they were seeing," he said nonchalantly.   
"Then who?" she asked, honestly confused.   
  
"Maybe he changed his appearance, Scully."   
  
"Changed his appearance," she said, "What do you mean, like put on a  
wig."  
  
"Not exactly, more like put on the semblance of a whole new person."   
  
She arched her eyebrows with a genuine look of fanciful incredulity,  
"and then I suppose he reversed time with one look from his 'magic  
eyes of rotation,' making the other eight bodies vanish without a  
trace before they were even buried."  
  
He beamed, "Extreme possibilities, Scully, I'm not discounting  
anything."  
  
"Now that we're on the subject, Mulder, what did happen to the bodies  
of the other victims?"  
  
"They didn't even make it to the examination table," he   
informed her, "The bodies were taken before permission for   
exhumation was even granted."  
  
"By who, Mulder?" she asked.   
  
"I think, Scully," he answered, "the appropriate question   
would be 'by what?'."  
  
"What do you mean, 'by what,' Mulder?"   
  
"Scully, how do you explain what is going on? Purity Control,   
clones, body-snatchers, I mean, you can't possibly think that   
it's all some big coincidence."  
  
"Mulder," she scowled, "I'm still not entirely convinced that   
they are clones, at least not until further evidence can be   
provided in regards to the other seven women. As for the   
missing bodies, it's possible that the murderer knows of   
something on the victims that could potentially implicate   
him. I'm sure he's just covering his tracks."  
  
He scoffed. She was grasping at straws, now, "By sneaking into a  
high-security medical complex? Even if that were true, how could he  
steal nine different bodies in seven different states in one night?"  
  
"Maybe he has accomplices." The faint impression of a frown could be  
detected on her pretty face as her cheeks began to redden. Even she  
didn't believe that explanation.  
  
"Extremely doubtful, Scully. He's a serial murderer. They aren't  
generally known to play well with others."  
  
She could feel the discomfort like the gaze of a thousand eyes. The  
discomfort turned to rising irritation. "Well, what are you  
suggesting then? That not only can our Yellow-Haired friend morph but  
he can be in seven different places at once, too?"  
  
"Of course not, Scully, that's a little far-fetched, don't   
you think?" He smiled at her. He savored the feeling of   
challenging her beliefs as she did his. "No, that's not   
what I'm suggesting at all. I think the reasonable   
conclusion is that the nine victims are the product of   
some scientific experiment headed by someone in the   
government capable of controlling the technology to fuse   
alien DNA with human DNA, someone who is able to pull off   
nine murders when the subjects are no longer needed and   
then can carry away nine bodies without anyone batting   
an eyelash."  
  
"You're right, Mulder," she said, putting a hand against   
her cheek and granting him a gaze of false reverence,   
"why didn't I see that before?"  
  
He ignored the look that he had fully expected to see, "There's  
something else, Scully."  
  
"What's that?" she stated curtly.   
  
"I was able to extract the license plate from the parking lot  
surveillance tape. I put out an A.P.B. on the ambulance but it, like  
the victims, has disappeared. I have a witness from Baxter's Brewery  
across the street who reports seeing a forty year old with long, dark  
hair and a scar over his right eyebrow driving away in an ambulance   
at 6:14 P.M.. His description, and that of the Yellow-Haired Man,   
is currently being sent to every agency on the east coast."  
  
He stepped away from the television and grabbed the coat from his  
desk. Putting it on, he turned to her, saying, "Why don't you   
go over the tapes again and see if there's anything I missed."  
  
"What are you going to do?" she asked.   
  
"I'm going to go see if I can't track me down some dead bodies."   
  
Washington, D.C.   
Undisclosed Location   
10:35 A.M.   
  
Mulder rapped loudly on the heavy, steel door in front of his face.   
He lowered his hand and stepped back into full view of the   
omnipresent surveillance camera, waiting for approval and   
admittance into the room.  
  
"Who is it?" he heard a semi-deep male voice crackle through the  
intercom.  
  
"Avon calling," he responded blandly, "I'm here to refill your blush  
samples."  
  
From behind the frame he could hear the sound of numerous locks being  
turned and chains being slid. Frohike opened the door wide and   
greeted him by saying, "Maybe you should try using some on your   
palely ass, Mulder." He was wearing his usual drab garb, a   
grayish tee-shirt, jeans, and a red pullover vest that provided   
the only color to the otherwise dreary ensemble.  
  
"You know, Melvin," he said, gesturing with a thumb towards the six  
locks on the inside of the door, "you are the most paranoid son of a  
bitch that I have ever had the displeasure of meeting."  
  
Frohike smiled, "Coming from you, Spooky, that's one hell of a  
compliment."  
Mulder glared at Frohike for the rebuttal and then proceeded into the  
room which maintained the cozy decorum of a breeding zone for   
computer geeks and mathematicians. Langly was seated in a   
relaxed position, chair bent back and legs crossed over a   
counter, reviewing a tape about the NASA conspiracy regarding   
the staged lunar landing of Apollo 11, while Byers combed   
quickly through the most recently reported crop circle   
findings in Manchester, England.  
  
"Hey, Mulder," Langly called to him, too engrossed to even look from  
the television screen.  
  
"Nice to see you, too," he muttered under his breath as Byers  
approached, folders in hand. "Hey, Mulder," he said, "what   
brings you to our neck of the woods? Working on something   
interesting?"  
  
"I don't know if you can handle it," Mulder baited them, "It looks  
like you've got a lot on your plate as it is."  
  
"Oh, this?" he asked, pointing to the reports, "just you're everyday  
run-of-the-mill falsified alien landing sites, generated by the  
government in order to deflect attention to the true crisis   
that faces the American people."  
  
Mulder nodded his head solemnly, "Boy bands."   
  
"Worse," Byers said, "the generation of a microbe so lethal that it  
could devastate the entire population of Tokyo in less than three  
hours."  
  
"A real bummer, Mulder," Langly chimed in, eyes still intent on the  
T.V., "Make a mental note. Don't go visiting Toxyo anytime soon."  
  
"Well," he antagonized, "if you're not up to the challenge, all you  
had to do is say so."  
  
Frohike plopped himself down on a chair. "Damn it, man, why don't you  
just come out and tell us what it is that you've gotten   
yourself into. What do we have to do to bail out your   
ass this time?"  
  
"Jesus, Frohike," Mulder said, "what the hell crawled up your ass and  
died? Get up on the wrong side of the child's-size bed or what?"  
  
"Don't mind him," Byers said.   
  
"Yeah," Langly chimed in, "he's just pissed off that you didn't bring  
Agent Scully with you."  
  
"Speaking of Scully," Frohike said, his ears perked at the sound of  
her name as his eyes gleamed with less-than-honorable intentions,  
"where is your tasty little red-headed partner?"  
  
"She's back at the Bureau," he told him, "I was afraid that if   
we were in the same room together, she would never be able to   
look at me the same way, that if we were on a stakeout together,   
it would be the name of 'Melvin' instead of 'Mulder' that she   
would cry out. And I just couldn't handle that kind of  
blow to my ego."   
  
"Since we're on the subject, Mulder," Langly asked, "how are   
things in that department going?" Then he added, a toothy,   
boyish grin appearing beneath his large, black, box-shaped   
glasses, "Did you know that your initials spell out 'S&M'?"  
  
Byers, shook his head, disregarding the last comment, "Yeah, Mulder,  
have you told her how you feel yet?"  
  
Mulder sighed. "I tried, boys," he told them, "I really tried, and I  
thought that we were truly getting somewhere at one point." He  
suddenly looked very tired. "Listen," he said, "I really don't feel  
like talking about this right now. Besides, we have more important  
things on our 'to do list' than Scully."  
Frohike smiled, "She's number one on my 'to do list', Mulder."   
  
"Easy there, big fella," Mulder responded with a smirk, "I've got  
another project that I need you to saddle."  
  
He thought anxiously of the discussion that he and Scully had had the  
day earlier in the hotel room. Since then, the awkwardness had  
dissipated and they had gone back to their regular working  
relationship. But that was not what he wanted at all. "What do   
I have to do to get on her 'to do list'?" he wondered to himself.   
He pushed all thoughts of Scully from his mind for the time being   
with a gentle shake of his head and proceeded to the matter at   
hand.  
  
"What do you have for us, Mulder?" Langly asked excitedly, finally  
giving Mulder his full attention, "Government conspiracy?   
Killer bees spreading alien viruses? Artificial intelligence   
turned murderers?"  
  
"Been there, done that, boys," he told them, "what I have is   
much more interesting, and you won't even have to get dirty   
doing it either."  
  
"Aww," Frohike sneered, "and I was hoping that I'd have to get all  
dressed up and purdy, too."  
  
Mulder opened the left flap of his coat and removed several pictures  
printed from a security surveillance system with his right hand. He  
threw the pictures in a heap on the desk nearest to him and proceeded  
to brief the trio: "These pictures were taken last night at Quantico  
Medical Facility, approximately 6:13-6:14 P.M.. They captured a  
Yellow-Haired Man in the process of stealing a body from an  
examination room on the third level. He transported the body to the  
basement parking lot where the victim was then transferred to a  
waiting ambulance. A Black-Haired Man was seen driving away with the  
body."  
  
Byers picked up the photos and started strumming through   
them lazily. The first several depicted Scully standing over   
the body, apparently preparing to conduct an autopsy. The   
next showed her leaving the room, followed by the entry of   
the Yellow-Haired Man of which Mulder spoke. The next   
picture was of the Yellow-Haired Man and the body in an   
elevator, and the last were of an ambulance by driven away   
by the Black-Haired Man.  
  
"What exactly is so important about the body, Mulder?" Byers asked.   
Mulder took numerous copies of files from his right pocket, handing  
them to Byers. "Do you know this is?" Mulder questioned him.  
  
"Of course," Byers said without the slightest hint of hesitation,  
"It's a representation of DNA."  
  
Langly peered over the shoulder of his friend, "Yeah," he said, "but  
what kind? That doesn't look like anything I've ever seen before."  
Byers agreed, "I've never seen it either, Mulder. Where did you  
obtain this wellspring?"  
  
"You don't happen to remember a little gem called 'Purity   
Control,' do you boys?" he asked them.  
  
"Purity Control...Purity Control?" Frohike placed a finger   
aside his lips as he thought aloud, "Wasn't that the code   
name of that bacteria you found in that flask...what was   
it that you told us, that you thought it was alien?"  
  
"Bingo, Frohike, you got it on the first try."   
  
"Well, I'll take this as my prize then," he said, picking up one of  
the first pictures of Scully and placing it in a pocket for  
safe-keeping.  
  
"You're a sick one, Melvin," he told him as Frohike licked his lips.   
  
"Right back at you," he replied.   
  
Mulder glanced toward Byers who asked, "What does Purity Control have  
to do with this DNA sample, Mulder?"  
  
"The DNA sample is a fusion product," he answered, "constructed from  
the genomes of the alien bacteria found in Purity Control and the  
human genome. That same sample was found in two separate women   
in two separate locations, who were killed by the same murderer."   
  
The room grew silent. Frohike, Langly, and Byers all glanced at each  
other, the smiles on their faces lengthening until they could no  
longer control themselves, bursting into spontaneous laughter.  
  
"An alien based genome," Langly said, more of a statement than a  
question, "right. Where do you come up with this stuff, Mulder?"  
  
"Yeah," Byers chuckled, "not even we could come up with a theory  
so...so..."  
  
"...weird," Frohike finished for him.   
  
"I was going to say farfetched," Byers replied, "but weird works,  
too."  
  
"OK," Mulder said, "we've all had our little laugh for the day. Now,  
are you going to help me or not?"  
  
"Sure," Langly answered for the three of them, "we wouldn't want to  
pass up such a...monumental discovery."  
  
"What do you want us to do?" Byers asked, stifling another bout of  
laughter.  
  
"I need you to go through all of the workers at Quantico," Mulder  
commanded, "Get me a background check and see if anyone would   
be smart enough to carry out this whole genetic fusion thing.   
Cross-reference with anyone who might have come in contact   
with any of the victims." He pointed to the last photocopy   
that contained all of the names of the nine victims. "Then   
see if you can find any information on either the   
Yellow-Haired or Black-Haired Man."  
  
"Anything else, 'O Great Leader'?" Frohike asked as Mulder turned his  
back and started walking towards the door.  
  
"Yeah, Frohike," he answered, turning back to face the  
geniuses-in-geeks-garb, "be gentle with that picture, you don't want  
to rush the first time." Then turning to leave, he called out an  
"Adios, amigos," and with a wave of the hand, he was gone.  
  
J. Edgar Hoover Building   
11:01 A.M.   
  
Scully was seated elegantly in a chair facing the television that was  
propped against the wall opposite the office door. Even from behind  
she appeared poised and in control. Her legs were tightly closed and  
fell at a "ladylike" diagonal over her seat. Her arms were folded  
neatly across her body and her elbows rested gently on the sides of  
the chair. She was the very model of his ideal, total perfection, at  
once the peak of professionalism and effeminate vulnerability. "Hell  
if she couldn't hold her own, too, though," he thought   
affectionately.  
  
As if sensing his presence in the room, she swiveled in her chair,  
turning to face him without even standing up. Her face carried a  
dubious look of extreme boredom which wore away obstinately at her  
beguiling features. "That was quick," she called to him,   
propping her head by placing a fist against her temple.  
  
"Apparently not quick enough, Scully," he answered, noting   
her obvious distaste for her latest assignment.  
  
"Mulder," she stated, the slightest touch of irritation in her voice,  
"I've been through these tapes like you asked and I still have yet to  
find anything relevant." She coupled the statement to an immediate  
question, "Where were you?"  
  
"I just went to visit Manny, Moe, and Jack," he said, "They're going  
to try and dig up some information on our missing assailants."  
  
He walked towards her and pulled his chair next to hers. She turned  
around and faced the T.V. as he seated himself haphazardly on the  
chair.  
  
Scully sighed a deep sigh of resignation. "Mulder, I can't help  
feeling like we're wasting time with this. I just don't know   
what you expect me to find. We have little to no chance of   
tracking down either the Yellow-Haired or the Black-Haired   
Man and those bodies are long gone by now. If someone took   
the trouble to steal nine bodies then I'm sure he disposed   
of whatever trace evidence was left on them."  
  
Mulder leaned in closer to the set as Scully continued her harangue.   
  
"Not to mention the fact that..."   
  
Mulder wasn't listening now. He held up his left hand without  
removing his gaze from the surveillance view of the ambulance.   
"Scully," he interrupted her, "push 'Rewind' on that tape for me."  
  
She shot him a quizzical look. "Mulder, what do you see?"   
  
He watched the tape for another few seconds as a look of excitement  
crossed his face. "There," he said, "did you see it that time?"  
  
Scully shook her head.   
  
"Rewind it again, Scully," he said, "but this time watch the driver's  
side mirror."  
  
Scully did as Mulder commanded. A few seconds elapsed as   
they watched the Yellow-Haired Man climb into the driver's   
side of the ambulance. As soon as his door was closed,   
Mulder hurriedly pushed "Pause."  
  
"See it now?" he asked.   
  
Scully saw, indeed. The mirror depicted a man sitting in   
the driver's seat, or rather, what looked like two men fused   
together down the center of the body. The left half of the   
Yellow-Haired Man and the right half of the Black-Haired Man   
stared back at her, a real-live "Two-Face" torn from the   
pages of a Batman comic book.  
  
"There must be some glitch in the camera," she said, "It's possible  
that the light reflected off the mirror at such an angle that it  
caused what appeared to be a fusion of the men sitting in the   
driver's and passenger's sides."  
  
Mulder shook his head. "Scully," he said, "we saw the Yellow-Haired  
Man climb into the driver's seat."  
  
"That doesn't mean that he didn't climb over to the passenger's   
side."  
  
"As soon as he climbed in, he disappeared and the Black-Haired Man  
appeared. Now what does that suggest to you?" he asked.  
  
"It suggests just what I said," she answered, "cheap lighting and  
camera tricks, nothing more than mechanical chicanery - an accidental  
parlor trick."  
"I think it's more than that."   
  
She braced herself. "Okay, Mulder, I'll bite. What do you think it  
is?"  
  
"I think that the Yellow-Haired Man is the Black-Haired Man,   
that they are one and the same person. I believe this man,   
whoever he is, has morphological capabilities not unlike   
those that we've seen before. Remember the alien Bounty   
Hunter had the ability to change his appearance, as did   
Jeremiah Smith?"   
  
"You know, Mulder," she said, "I was never fully convinced that those  
men had the ability to change their physiology."  
  
"Not men, Scully," he corrected her, "aliens."   
  
"So what are you saying?" she asked, "That the man who stole   
that body from Quantico wasn't human at all? That he was an   
alien?"  
  
"That's the logical explanation, Scully," he replied.   
She shot him a sideways glance. "And I suppose," she   
said with a tone teeming with disbelief and sarcasm,   
"that next you're going to tell me that the connection   
between kidnapper and the kidnapee is Purity Control."  
  
Mulder opened his eyes wide with a look of surprise, and then settled  
into an overtly calm demeanor. "Imagine, if you will," he said, a  
thin smile crossing his face, "an F.B.I. agent not unlike any other.   
Skeptical, cunning, beautiful, but determined not to believe   
the truth until scientific proof is in her grasp. Today, she   
has found herself on the opposing side, today she has found   
herself in the position of believer, proponent of truth.   
Today she has entered 'the Spooky Zone'."  
  
"Mulder," she scolded, her face betraying a look of mild  
entertainment, "I may be a proponent of the truth but I certainly  
cannot endorse this highly irrational concept of yours. If you can  
logically explain to me the scientific basis for what it is that you  
are purporting, then perhaps I will consider it a possibility."  
  
"Scully, what more scientific proof do you need?" he asked,  
  
"Everything in that folder on your desk is screaming out the   
truth but you obstinately refuse to take a leap of faith, and   
it would not even be a large leap at that. Just look at the   
evidence. Science has concluded that the composition of   
Purity Control is identical to not just one dead woman, but   
two who live hundreds of miles away from each other. Now   
would it be such a leap to say that the other seven victims   
contain the same genes as well?"  
  
"Perhaps not, Mulder," she answered, "Maybe you are right and the  
government is conducting cloning experiments that we should not even  
have the technological capabilities to carry out. Now what? What is  
our next course of action? It may not be such a outlandish   
conjecture that nine clones exist, possibly twelve if the   
Apostalic connection holds true, but I am simply not about   
to believe that our killer is a morphing Two-Faced alien   
based upon faith alone."  
  
He looked her up and down, sizing her up coldly. "Maybe I   
was wrong," he finally said, "maybe it was wrong of me to   
think that you would believe me, just this once, simply   
because my faith in this belief was so strong." He shook   
his head sadly, "You once told me that you had the strength   
of my beliefs, Scully. Why can't you just believe me now?"  
  
Without saying another word, he stood and stormed abruptly out of the  
room, leaving Scully sitting speechless in solitary contemplation. 


	4. Chimera Genetics

Washington, D.C.   
Undisclosed Location   
4:12 P.M.   
  
"Back so soon, Mulder?" Langly asked as he opened the steel door to  
the headquarters of The Magic Bullet.  
  
"Well," he said, passing by the lanky blonde, "I was going to catch a  
flick but I said to myself, 'Hey, why don't I go find out who's   
behind the serial murder of nine women and prevent the future   
murder of three more before fire and brimstone fall from the   
sky and the Four Horsemen roam the earth' instead."  
  
Mulder stood behind Frohike and Byers who were seated next to each  
other in front of two different computer screens. The sound of  
clicking resonating from the keyboards reverberated off of   
the largely unfurbished walls. He placed his hands on his   
hips and asked them collectively, "What've we got?"  
  
"We've got nothing, Mulder," he said with an amazingly strait-face,  
"but as to your after-hours conquests, well, that will have to remain  
a...what's the word I'm looking for...an irritation all your own."  
  
"Hey, Frohike," he replied, putting a hand on his shoulder   
and leaning closer, "get a haircut."  
  
Frohike mumbled as Langly resumed his seat opposite the other two.   
"I've been working on tracking down anyone who works or who   
previously worked at Quantico with exceptional medical   
knowledge specifically regarding microbiology and genetics,"   
he told Mulder, "I've just finished compiling a list of the   
fifteen leading researches in those fields." He handed   
Mulder a list including the fifteen names, the history of   
their medical training, and the more publicized projects   
to which their names were connected.  
  
"Dr. Elizabeth Sykes," he read aloud, "Six years at Quantico as a  
practicing microbiologist. Had a prominent career and much success,  
with work ranging from the identification of specific motor proteins  
in chemical synapses..." He smiled. "Whatever that means," he said,  
and then continued with the briefing, "...to providing   
assistance with the Human Genome Project. She became a   
full agent in 1982, and has been working at the microbiology   
unit in J. Edgar ever since."  
  
He looked up above the printout at Langly. "I think this Sykes woman  
is the same agent who discovered the link between Purity Control and  
the victims," he mused, "I think I'll have Scully take a look at this  
list."  
  
Frohike looked up through his large, round glasses with a   
gleam in his eye. Mulder pointed at him. "Don't even say   
it," he told him.  
  
"What?" Frohike asked, raising both of his hands in an inquisitive  
gesture.  
"Whatever it was you were going to say," Mulder answered.   
  
"I was going to say that I'm still cross-referencing the close  
contacts of the victims, but now I thinking about some four-letter  
words I'd like to say instead."  
  
Byers turned around in his seat and looked at Mulder, hoping to steer  
the discussion back to the findings that they had spent the better  
part of the day researching. "I've been attempting to discover the  
link among the victims," he said, "but it is a difficult task because  
the background of all of the women is extremely convoluted."  
  
"Quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?" he asked Byers.   
  
"Perhaps too much of a coincidence," he answered, "What better way to  
erase a person from existence than to destroy his entire past? Not  
only have the victims' bodies been disposed of, but almost their  
entire life has, as well."  
  
"Maybe the objective isn't to erase them," Mulder proposed, "Maybe  
these women simply do not have a past. If they were genetically  
engineered, synthesized in a lab, then perhaps there is no past that  
needs to be destroyed."  
  
"I thought of that," Byers answered, "Several of the names   
on Langly's list worked for the same medical facility at   
one point or another in their life, a place called   
'Chimera Genetics.' This facility, Mulder, was the   
foreground pioneer in genetic engineering. Chimera   
technology led to the first fusion experiments conducted   
between rodent and human cellular membranes, which led to   
the discovery of the modern Fluid-Mosaic membrane model,   
the model for which we base our beliefs on how the cellular   
membrane is composed. Back in the days of the rodent-human   
fusion, Chimera wanted publicity, it thrived on it because   
it was backed solely by grants from the American Medical  
Association."  
  
"The A.M.A.," Mulder stated.   
  
"Yes," Byers continued, "but for the last twenty years or so, Chimera  
has been a covert operation. Grants were no longer needed as Chimera  
began to be backed by private, confidential donors. Today, no one  
except the experts working there knows what experiments are being  
conducted."  
  
"Sounds like Chimera has moved on from rodents to a higher species,"  
Mulder said.  
  
"Yeah," Frohike concurred, "and we're not talking about Langly."   
  
Langly shot him a look of disdain while Mulder thanked the Gunmen for  
all of their assistance. "Great job," he told them, turning   
to leave, and said, "Frohike, have those results faxed to me   
by about 7:00 tonight."  
  
Without waiting for a response, Mulder walked out the door.   
  
"Jesus," Frohike called after him, "Who died and made you Assistant  
Director?"  
  
Route 1S   
4:20 P.M.   
  
Mulder fiddled anxiously with the radio knob as he waited for the  
stoplight to turn green, finally settling on "Heartbreak Hotel" by  
Elvis Presley. He felt as though he was on the verge of something  
big, something that he was sure Scully would be afraid to admit.  
  
"Scully," he said aloud, realizing that he had left her   
quite abruptly in the basement of J. Edgar. He picked up   
the cellular phone that was seated on the passenger's side   
as the light changed color. Inching along, he dialed   
Scully's number as cars flew past him on the left.  
  
"Since my baby left me, I found a new place to dwell," he mouthed, in  
sync with the lyrics. By the time she picked up he was singing the  
chorus softly to himself: "I've been so lonely, I've been so lonely,  
I've been so lonely I could die."  
  
He could almost see the quizzical expression on her face as her voice  
rang through the phone, "Mulder, is that you?"  
  
"Yeah, Scully," he said, "It's me."   
  
"What are you doing, Mulder?" she asked, "Where are you?"   
There was a pause on the other end of the line, "And what   
is that in the background?"  
  
"Karaoke," he replied simply, and then asked her, "Can you meet me at  
my place in fifteen minutes?"  
  
"Why?" she asked, "Did you find something out from the Stooges?"   
  
"Just meet me there. There's something I need your help with."   
  
"Sure, Mulder," she answered, "I'll be there."   
  
She pulled the phone from her ear, about to turn it off when   
she heard a soft, yet insistent voice, "Scully?"  
  
"Yes?" she asked, replacing the receiver once more against her ear.   
  
He gulped down a lungful of air, and hesitated, "Um...never mind," he  
said, "See you in fifteen."  
  
Fox Mulder Residence  
4:53 P.M.   
  
Mulder glanced around the room. It was exactly as he had left it.   
Files were strewn on the floor and a blanket still lay on the couch  
which had served as his bed the night before he had traveled to  
Philadelphia. The descending sun was shrouded by dark thunder clouds  
and the light from his fish tank provided the sole illumination. He  
walked towards the tank and grabbed for the flake-food bottle   
that was hidden behind a picture of he and his mother. He opened   
the yellow cap and poured some into the water, watching peacefully   
as the fish fed. They were so content, so carefree. Sometimes he   
wished for the same sort of blissful ignorance. He replaced the   
food and picked up the silver frame that encased the picture of   
his mother. He touched her face lightly with his finger. He   
remembered how much Samantha had looked like her. She had the   
same striking features, the pronounced chin, high cheekbones,   
and flowing, dark hair. He placed the frame back on the table   
as a fist rapped loudly on his door.  
  
"Coming," he called, and walked across the room to answer it,  
stumbling over a pile of dirty laundry as he did. He unlocked the  
latch and opened the door, revealing Scully in a stunning red suit  
that highlighted her ruby lips and fiery hair.  
  
"Come here often?" he asked with a smile, extending his arm in a  
gesture that told her to advance.  
  
"Only when overcome with an overwhelming desire to vacuum," she  
answered. She seated herself on his couch, after removing several  
items of clothing from the cushion. She gazed up at him as he  
approached her. "What was so urgent that it couldn't wait until  
tomorrow, Mulder?" she asked.  
  
He seated himself on his "bed" next to her and pointed to the file  
that lay overtop twenty others on his coffee table. "That, Scully,"  
he answered. He opened the front portion of the manila folder,  
revealing the lists compiled by the Gunmen. "I need you to look  
through that list for me. It's composed of the fifteen people from  
Quantico who are the most likely to be connected to this case. They  
all have a deep background knowledge of genetics and several are  
connected to a laboratory facility known as Chimera Genetics."  
  
"Chimera?" she repeated.   
  
"Yes," he said, "have you heard of it?"   
  
"Yes," she answered, "When I was an undergraduate student, I worked  
with a professor performing chromosomal identification techniques in  
fruit flies. During that time, I researched many scientific   
journals. At that time, I noted a strange occurrence. Many   
of the journals that I researched involving genetics originated   
from work compiled from Chimera. I remember asking my professor   
if such an occurrence was customary and he informed me that   
Chimera was the foremost leader in experimentation involving   
genetics."  
  
"But did you know, Scully, that in 1983, all grants provided by the  
American Medical Association to Chimera Genetics were withdrawn   
due to 'questionable experimentation techniques?' After '83,   
funding was provided by private donors and no works have been   
published by Chimera geneticists since that time onward."  
  
"What exactly are you driving at, Mulder?" she questioned.   
"I'm saying," he told her, "that someone is using Chimera as a  
resource for something other than to simply perpetuate knowledge in  
the field of genetics. Someone is using Chimera for personal gain."  
  
"Mulder," she said, "With all of the regulations established by the  
scientific community, I don't see how someone could have gotten away  
with using Chimera as a personal guinea pig for all of those years.   
Chimera must have been checked out by someone in authority.   
Besides," she added, somewhat indignantly, "all scientists   
have a duty to report their findings, and if duty isn't a   
strong enough motivator, then the desire for prestige and   
monetary gain provides the incentive. I simply do not think   
it is possible that Chimera has been operating under selfish   
motivations."  
  
He shook his head. "You're wrong, Scully," he said, "Do you   
know what a Chimera is?"  
  
Scully nodded. "Actually, I do. In Greek mythology, the   
Chimera was a horrible beast that plagued mankind, part   
dragon and part ram. It was destroyed by the Corinthian   
hero Bellerephon with the aid of the winged horse Pegasus.   
The term has been adapted for medical use. Today, a chimera   
is known as a fusion product generated from two different   
genomes."   
  
"That's right, Scully," he concurred, "And do you know for what  
experimentation Chimera Genetics is most famous?"  
  
"Yes, I do, Mulder," she answered, "Chimera scientists proposed the  
modern-day theory of the Fluid-Mosaic Model of the cellular membrane,  
a semi-permeable barrier composed of proteins and phospholipids."  
  
She cocked her head to the side and gazed at him, long and hard.   
"Where is this going, Mulder?" she asked.  
  
"I believe that Chimera is the site of the experimentation being  
conducted on Purity Control, experimentation that led to   
the formation of human-alien hybrids like the nine missing   
women. Like the mythological beast, geneticists are   
engineering the fusion of Purity Control with humans,   
generating two separate entities that are able to coexist   
and function as a unit."  
  
She looked at him, her eyes betraying her disbelief, "That's   
a little farfetched, don't you think?"   
  
"I don't think so," he answered, his voice alive with   
passion, "Langly told me that the first experiments that   
led to the perpetuation of the Fluid-Mosaic Model included   
fusing rodent membranes to human membranes. What if,   
Scully, these scientists have figured out a way to not only   
combine our cells to that of rats, but our entire genome to   
that of the bacteria found in Purity Control."   
  
"Mulder, that kind of technological capability is decades, even  
centuries down the line."  
  
"Then how do you explain the gel results, Scully?"   
  
She stammered, feeling somewhat defeated, "I don't know."   
  
"And what about that list of geneticists at Quantico, Scully? It  
can't just be a coincidence that eight of the fifteen most qualified  
in their field spent at least three years researching at Chimera."  
  
Scully picked up the list that still lay atop the open   
manila folder. "Oh my God," she said suddenly, her   
eyes and mouth widening to double their natural size.  
  
"What is it?" he asked her.   
  
"Mulder," she said, "I recognize these names." She pointed   
at the top two on the list of qualified geneticists. "Dr.   
Elizabeth Sykes," she read aloud, "Mulder, she's the woman   
who informed me of Purity Control in the women's bloodstreams   
in the first place. And Dr. Anne Carpenter, she was the sister   
of Sykes who originally isolated the base pairs in the Purity   
Control DNA sequence. She was killed for our work, Mulder,   
killed because she discovered the truth that lay hidden Purity   
Control." Her eyebrow arched as she completed the last thought,   
"Why would Agent Sykes make me aware of the Purity Control   
connection if Chimera was carrying out the genomic fusion in   
the first place?"  
  
J. Edgar Hoover Building   
5:16 P.M.   
  
"Inform her that Agent Scully is here and that the matter   
is urgent."   
  
Scully straightened her posture and puffed out her chest, attempting  
to look as important as possible. She was having extreme difficulty  
convincing Ms. Donnelly, Agent Sykes' secretary, that she needed to  
see the good doctor.  
"I'm sorry, Agent Scully," Ms. Donnelly said, looking up through a  
stack of papers that needed to be filed, "but Dr. Sykes told me that  
she was not to be interrupted at any costs, that includes convening  
meetings with Special Agents who have neglected to make an  
appointment." She turned her attention once more to the   
work at hand.  
  
Now Mulder was growing impatient, as well. "If we neglected to make  
an appointment, Ms. Donnelly, then it is most likely due to the fact  
that our confidence in your ability to correctly pencil us in is  
somewhat lacking."  
  
Ms. Donnelly scowled. She was about to coldly respond to his  
completely unnecessary commentary when she was interrupted by the  
sound of the opening of Dr. Sykes' office door. "It's okay, Angela,"  
she said, "Please send them in."  
  
Mulder stuck his nose up in the air and turned away from the  
receptionist, a small "Hmm," escaping his lips, as if to say,   
"See, we told you so!" Ms. Donnelly watched as the two agents   
walked into Dr. Sykes' office. "Asshole," she muttered as   
soon as Mulder was out of earshot.  
  
Mulder and Scully entered the room and Sykes closed the door behind  
them. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Agents?" she asked as she  
gestured to the two leather seats in front of her. Scully waited for  
the doctor to be seated behind her desk before she started her  
interrogation.  
  
"Agent Sykes," she began tartly, "some very intriguing details  
regarding the case have come to my and Agent Mulder's attention,  
details that you neglected to tell me when you first brought my  
attention to Purity Control."  
  
"Such as?" she questioned, her dark eyes hardening into an unfamiliar  
firmness. They seemed as stormy as the night clouds visible through  
the window behind her.  
  
Mulder took up the reins. "Like the role that Chimera Genetics has  
played in bringing about the creation of human-alien hybrids."  
  
Sykes' eyes flashed as thunder shook the night sky. "How did   
you hear of Chimera?" she asked.  
  
"So you don't deny, then, that there is connection to Chimera,"   
Mulder said, his eyes twinkling with the rush gained from   
catching the perpetrator in a lie.  
  
"Of course not," Sykes answered, "I was simply hoping that   
it would be unnecessary to bring Chimera's role in all of   
this to light."  
  
"Why don't you tell us everything," Scully interjected, "from the  
beginning. Please do not leave anything out."  
  
Sykes shifted in her chair and fiddled nervously with a letter opener  
that lay on her desk. "Chimera used to be a highly respected lab,"  
she began suddenly, eyes shifting from left to right, "the most  
prestigious forum for genetics research in the country, perhaps   
in the world." Her eyes began to warm as a smile crossed her   
lips. She looked at the ceiling and sighed inwardly. "Those   
were the days," she said, "results had to be gleaned from the   
work. A.M.A. grants were at stake and at times the pressure   
seemed unbearable. But pressure produced amazing results.   
Chimera scientists identified the intricate workings of mitosis   
and meiosis, the first motor proteins, and developed the theory   
of the Fluid-Mosaic Model of cellular membranes. Perhaps you've   
heard of it."  
  
Mulder shot Scully a glance. She was smiling. He smiled, too.   
"We've been informed of the Fluid-Mosaic Model," he answered.  
  
Sykes continued where she had left off. "In the early eighties, it  
was discovered that a select group of geneticists were conducting  
experiments that, at the time, seemed far too outrageous. Working  
under the project name 'Saving Grace,' the scientists implemented the  
fusion of various types of DNA, including rats, birds, snakes, and  
mammals. The experiments were seen as an abomination by the  
scientific community and kept largely under wraps. The A.M.A.  
withdrew all support to Chimera, stating that manipulation of nature  
would lead scientists down a path that was largely unethical.   
Unfortunately, they were right."  
  
Scully glanced at her thoughtfully. "What is your connection to   
this, Agent Sykes?" she asked.  
  
"There were eight of us," she said simply, "eight of us who were  
willing to pursue the work for the betterment of science and   
humanity, even if our work was continuing through the pockets   
of some secretive governmental officials. Of course, at the   
time we didn't know that they were using us to carry out their   
own dastardly plans, creating a human-alien hybrid that they   
could control and would use in order to fight the future."  
  
"And what about your sister, Agent Sykes?" Scully questioned,   
"How was she connected to Chimera?"  
  
"My sister was a go-between," she answered, "we all were,   
except for a select few who actually proceeded in carrying   
out the actual fusion and birthing of the twelve clones.   
My sister worked on developing and identifying the human   
genome. When you appeared with Purity Control in 1994,   
she had honestly never seen anything of that nature   
before. I, on the other hand, was part of the team that   
assisted in conducting research on the alien bacteria.   
Because of my understanding of Purity Control, the   
geneticists who worked for our backers were able to   
completely manipulate the alien genome. Because of me,   
they were able to create the hybrids."  
  
She paused briefly and then continued, "When my sister was killed,  
Agent Scully, I began to realize just what depths these men would go  
to in order to ensure their dominance over our creations. I   
knew that I had to stop the project, stop these men from   
creating walking weapons that would be used in order to   
maintain their control. It's what my sister would do, were   
she still alive."  
  
"Well, that certainly explains why you steered me towards the Purity  
Control connection," Scully responded, "but I'm still confused as to  
why you didn't just tell me outright about Chimera."  
  
"I was afraid, Agent Scully," she answered, "I have a family   
of my own now, husband, children, responsibilities. I saw   
what those bastards did to my sister. I was simply afraid   
of sharing her fate."  
  
Sykes sighed again as she pulled a photograph from her desk drawer.   
"I figured that this would all come out eventually," she confided to  
the agents, throwing the photo across the desk for them to see, "It  
was inevitable. So I brought this from home when Agent Scully first  
sent me the blood samples. It is the eight of us who worked on the  
project together at Chimera."  
  
Mulder's eyes widened as he plucked the photo up from the desk with  
his fingers. "Oh my God," he breathed, horrified with the image he  
saw reflected back at him. Looking completely unchanged from the day  
he had seen her in Philadelphia, Lauren Alvarez stood smiling next to  
Dr. Sykes, looking exotic and beautiful.  
  
Scully looked incredulous. Her eyes appeared as expansive as the  
night sky and her mouth formed a large "O" that wordlessly expressed  
her disbelief.  
  
"Mulder?" It was a simple question but it articulated plainly  
everything that she was feeling, bewilderment, empathy, skepticism.   
What could he possibly be thinking, and how was Lauren connected to  
the murders of nine women?  
  
"That woman," he asked, pointing to the pretty figure of Lauren  
Alvarez, "who is that woman?"  
  
"Oh, her?" she questioned, "That's Maria Valesquez. She was the head  
geneticist of the project, by far the most advanced of all eight of  
us." She looked wistful. "Her intelligence was unmatched,"   
she said.  
  
"What did her job consist of?"   
  
"Maria had the responsibility of putting our individual projects  
together. She  
essentially took the human genome work of Anne and her group and the  
Purity Control genome of my group, put them together, and raised the  
twelve fetuses."  
  
Mulder folded his hands and sat back in his chair, attempting to  
absorb all that he had heard. Scully continued where he left off.   
"Agent Sykes," she said, "When I first came to see you, you gave me  
the impression that you were unaware of the connection between the  
murders and the blood samples that I asked you to analyze. Now you  
are telling us that not only were you aware of the connection, but  
your own two hands assisted in securing its ties, that you are  
partially responsible for the generation of these beings that are not  
human, and yet, not alien either. How can you sit there so brazenly  
and ask us to accept what you have told us on your word alone?"  
  
"Agent Scully," she said smugly, "you above all people should know  
that in our line of work, you can never be too careful to whom you  
divulge information, or what the extent of that information   
should be. Discretion is not merely a tool, it is a necessity.   
I was only acting out of the best interests of all concerned."  
  
Mulder awoke from his daze with a gentle startle as the   
humming of his cell phone whirred from the inside pocket   
of his jacket. "Excuse me," he said softly, standing up   
and proceeding towards the hall to take the call.  
  
"With all due respect, Agent Sykes," Scully continued, "I   
believe that your motivations were less than respectable."  
  
Sykes scoffed at the arrogance of the skeptical scientist. She had  
all of the evidence at her disposal. Why was her refusal to believe  
so adamant? "I have already admitted as much, Agent Scully. My  
family is my life. The thought of losing them, I couldn't live with  
the guilt. You couldn't possibly understand, Agent Scully. My  
children are everything to me."  
  
Scully's face grew pale and she began to shrink away like   
a frightened child hiding the truth about who broke the   
cookie jar from his parents. Agent Sykes had unwittingly   
touched a deep nerve. She would never know what it was   
like to bear children, to carry a child as part of her   
body and then, after nine months, feel his soft body against  
her breast. Scully slowly regained her composure and   
attempting to appear as in control as possible, she   
recaptured the courage to ask the doctor one more   
question, "Why even call our attention to the experiments,   
then? Why make us aware of this project that someone is  
so obviously attempting to hide after nearly two decades   
of work?"  
  
All emotions were wiped away from Sykes' face. Holding   
back the tears and the crack in her voice, she sullenly   
answered, "Agent Scully, you were right. It was   
partially my doing, the existence of these, these,   
creatures. If it weren't for me, they wouldn't be alive  
right now, and someone wouldn't be attempting to   
exterminate them one by one. I told you about the   
hybrids because I want you to find the bastards that did   
this. My conscience will never fully be cleared, but if   
you and Agent Mulder can make it right, as only you can,   
then I will be able to look my children in the face,   
assured that their future is bright and secured."  
  
The door opened and Mulder leaned his head in. "There's been another  
murder," he said and once again closed the door, leaving the   
two women looking at each other in grim determination.  
  
Flight 983A   
9:45 P.M.   
  
Mulder walked gracefully down the center aisle, followed by a  
struggling Scully, greatly encumbered by the large overnight   
bags that draped each arm. "Mulder," she lightly whined,   
lifting the bags to his eyelevel. He turned sharply around   
at the sound of his name and gazed at the pathetic picture   
before his eyes. He couldn't help but laugh.  
  
"Mulder," she said, "it's not funny."   
  
He walked towards her, still chuckling softly. It was good to laugh,  
if even for a moment. If anyone could get his mind off of  
Lauren's...err...Maria's involvement in the creation of alien-human  
hybrids, it was Scully. He took the bags from her hands and  
immediately began to wince.  
  
"Jesus, Scully, what'd you bring?" he scolded her.   
  
"What's wrong?" she asked, making her voice sound as though she were  
talking to  
a little child, "Are those bags too heavy for my big Macho Man?"   
  
His smile broadened, "Big is right, Scully."   
A small smirk crossed her face. "Mulder," she reprimanded.   
  
She followed his lead as he made his way to their seats.   
"...C...D...E...oh, F, here we are, Scully," he called aloud. He  
placed her bags in the overhead compartment and opened his arm in a  
gentlemanly gesture. "Ladies first," he told her.  
  
She grinned gratefully. He knew how much she hated not being able to  
see where they were going. She always needed to feel as though she  
were in control, even if she was incapable of piloting an aircraft.  
  
"Are you sure you don't want the window seat?" she asked,   
knowing full well that he would say "No."  
  
"No, that's alright," he answered, "You take it. I need to   
stretch out my legs anyway."  
  
"Just make sure your big feet don't trip the stewardess."   
  
A mock expression of hurt graced his face. "I believe they prefer to  
be addressed as 'flight attendants'," he told her, and then added,  
"You know what they say about a guy with big feet, don't you,   
Scully?"  
  
She smiled broadly, now. "Yes, Mulder," she said, "I think I do. I  
believe they say that a man with big feet is completely narcissistic  
and suffers from delusions of grandeur in order to compensate for his  
abnormally small..."  
  
Her final words were obscured by the sound of the pilot speaking over  
the  
intercom. "Hello, this is your Captain speaking, and thank you for  
flying American Airlines..."  
  
10:15 P.M.   
  
Mulder had his arms folded over his chest and was leaning back in the  
second-class chair, hoping to glean some sliver of comfort so that he  
could be overtaken by sleep and forget, at least for a short period,  
all of his many woes. Scully turned her attention from the overcast,  
obscured night to the bent figure of her handsome partner. She   
stared at him, contemplating whether or not she should initiate the  
inevitable discussion. They had to talk about her, about Lauren, or  
Maria, or whatever her name was. She had to know what he was   
planning on doing once they arrived in Philadelphia, but even   
more so, she felt the desire to understand what mental distress   
he was tormenting himself with. She thought of leaning in, of   
putting her chin on his shoulder and just holding him, to let   
him know that she was there and everything would be alright.   
As long as she was by his side, she would never let any more   
pain enter his life. And she knew that he gave her the same   
protection in return.  
  
"Take a picture, Scully," he said suddenly, maintaining his position,  
not even opening his eyes.  
  
"What?" she blurted out, confused as one waking from a   
blissful dream.  
  
"Take a picture," he repeated, "It'll last longer." He opened his  
eyes and turned his neck to face her. His face was only an   
inch away. She backed up and leaned against the window,   
startled by their sudden proximity.  
  
"I suppose now would not be the most opportune time to ask if you're  
awake," she said.  
  
Mulder rolled his beautiful, hazel eyes, revealing the dark circles  
beneath them. "It's a shame you didn't get any sleep," she said, "It  
looks like you could have really used it."  
  
He smiled a devilish grin. "Is this your way of asking me to   
join the Mile-High Club, Scully?" he asked.  
  
It was her turn to roll her eyes. "As tempting an offer as that  
sounds," she replied, "I'm afraid I'll have to pass." She   
took a deep breath as she continued, "But I'm glad you're   
awake, Mulder. We need to talk."  
  
"Are you breaking up with me, Scully?"   
  
"Mulder, be serious for a moment, please," she pleaded. His face  
immediately dropped from humor to a look of stoic professionalism   
that appeared whenever he was explaining some remote theory to   
her that only he would take seriously. But this time, he wasn't   
leading the discussion.  
  
"Go ahead," he urged her, shaking his head in a gesture of support.   
  
"I think we need to talk about Lauren," she said bluntly.  
  
Mulder sighed and faced the back of the chair in front of him.   
He had been expecting the conversation since they had left Dr.   
Sykes' office, but he had silently hoped that Scully and he might   
sit in hushed peace until their arrival in Philly. "Must we?"   
he grumbled.  
  
Scully dismissed the comment and proceeded onward, "Mulder, I know  
that this is very trying for you. I mean, you weren't even aware   
that Lauren was a scientist, let alone the leading geneticist in   
a conspiracy to generate alien-human hybrids and then dispose of   
them once their usefulness had run its course."  
  
"I'm aware of the details, thank-you," he replied drolly, his voice  
dripping sweet with sarcasm.  
  
Scully breathed deeply and paused. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said,  
"but we need to decide how we are going to handle the investigation.   
Do you want to interrogate her after we arrive at the airport   
or would you like to visit the crime scene first?"  
  
"I'll handle it, Scully," he told her, "I'd like to interrogate   
her by myself when the time is right."  
  
"When the time is right?" she questioned, her voice growing   
noticeably incensed, "And when, pray tell, will the time be   
right?"  
  
"I'll handle it," he said again in a tone so commanding that even  
those on the other side of the aisle were wondering what it was that  
the tall, handsome man in the black suit was going to take care of.  
  
Scully turned back to the viewless view of the window and Mulder   
faced the opposite direction. She knew now was not the time to   
press him, that he was dealing with too much at one time. But   
even he was not going to stop her from digging into the past of   
Detective Lauren Alvarez. 


	5. Out to Lunch

Philadelphia Police Department   
March 28, 2000  
9:14 A.M.   
  
"Long time, no see," Mulder quipped as he walked through   
the station's large double doors and found Detective   
Alvarez standing in the middle of the busy room.  
  
"Yeah," she answered simply, attempting to decide whether or not to  
embrace the man that she still loved but who no longer loved her in  
return. After an awkward silence and some uneasy shuffling of the  
shoulders on both his and her part, she decided against it. Instead,  
she opted for the purely professional approach, so as to mask   
her true feelings from him. He was always so good at figuring   
out what she was thinking. She was sure that even now he was   
sizing her up, examining her psyche, silently exploring her   
feelings with his amazingly perceptive profiling abilities.  
  
"So, where's the body?" Mulder asked abruptly. When she had   
called to tell him of the murder, he had asked her to put the   
body under heavy guard. He didn't want this body to disappear   
like the other nine. Scully wanted hard evidence to present to   
the Bureau heads and he was going to do everything in his power   
to ensure that that would happen.  
  
"That's one hell of an icebreaker, Fox," she muttered under her  
breath, mildly surprised by how easily she had allowed it   
to slip out. Embarrassed, she glanced quickly at his face   
to see if he had heard. His eyes told her that he had.  
  
"She's at the morgue," Alvarez hastily answered in an attempt to  
divert attention from the previous comment, "under tight security,  
just as you asked. We will not be losing this body, Fox, I can  
personally assure you."  
  
Alvarez couldn't help but notice that Agent Scully rolled her eyes at  
her last statement. "What was the motivation," Lauren wondered,  
"jealousy?"  
  
"Is there something wrong, Agent Scully?" she asked innocently.   
  
"Oh no, Detective Alvarez," she said calmly, "I was simply   
thinking to myself that your personal assurance wasn't enough   
to stop the bodies under your jurisdiction from being stolen   
in the first place."  
  
Alvarez smiled, the angry grin of a wife who has been scorned and  
insulted by her husband's impetuous, young mistress. "And if I do  
recall correctly, Agent Scully, one of the victim's bodies was stolen  
out from right under your nose. In fact, the body-napping occurred  
while you were working on her. Isn't that  
right?"   
  
Mulder frowned externally to show his disapproval, but in his mind he  
could hear himself saying, "Please, ladies, don't fight over little  
old me!" He wished that Frohike were there so that they could make  
hissing noises and make witty references to catfights. Instead, he  
heard himself say aloud, "Scully, why don't you go and conduct an  
autopsy on the victim. We need solid proof if we're going to   
find the murderer before he strikes again."  
  
Scully complied, although she thought it better if they were to  
interrogate Alvarez together. After shooting the detective a final,  
noticeable glare, Scully took her leave. Mulder's gaze followed her  
as she walked out of the room. Her glossy, red hair bobbed up and  
down, in perfect sync with her gait, and her arms hung loosely at her  
side. After she was out of sight, he turned his eyes back towards  
Alvarez. "Lauren," he said solemnly, "we need to talk."  
Lauren opened the door to her office as Mulder trailed behind. He  
secured the door tightly behind him and she could tell that something  
was terribly amiss. "If this is about my conduct at the restaurant  
the other day," she began, but he stopped her in mid-sentence with   
one nod of the head.  
  
"I'm not here to talk about that, Lauren," he interrupted, "Or would  
you prefer to be called by your true name?"  
  
She shot him a quick sideways glance as she sat down in her desk  
chair. "What are you talking about, Fox?" she asked, her eyes  
askance.  
  
"I think you know what I'm talking about, Maria."  
  
Her mouth dropped. She felt as though she had been punched in the  
stomach and was carrying out some fruitless effort to breathe the air  
back into her lungs. Suddenly realizing her blatant reaction, she  
attempted to regain composure, but it was too late. She knew that he  
knew.  
  
"Fox," she stammered, "how did you find out?"  
  
"About what, Maria? About your hand in generating alien-human   
hybrids whose very existence was held a closely guarded secret   
by you, the other seven geneticists who created them, and the   
governmental money-lenders that backed your research?"  
  
She was stunned, visibly distraught. He knew everything. "How did  
you find out, Fox?" she repeated.  
  
"That's not important," he answered, "Right now I want to know why."  
  
"Why what?" she asked.  
  
"Why would you go along with something so diabolical? Why would you  
not only mask the truth, but actively perpetuate a complete   
falsehood, the one thing in life that I detest more than anything   
else in this world?" He looked tired and his face fell to his   
chest. He truly looked hurt. "I can only assume that after you   
created these monstrosities, someone, most likely your same backer,   
paid you to leave, not only Washington, but your former life as   
well. None of the other scientists had to create a whole new   
lifestyle because they were simply researches but you, you are the   
one who created them, saw them grow from fetuses into full-grown   
beings. That is why you had to leave town, that's why you were   
made to find a new career, that's why you have to generate an   
entirely new identity. Who's pulling your strings, Lauren, the   
same men who paid you off to create these beings and then keep   
them a secret? What are they're names? Who are they?"  
  
Her large, brown eyes began to well up with tears. "I don't know,  
Fox. I never saw them. They always sent some middleman in to do the  
work for them. I swear to you, I have no idea who they are." Tears  
were streaming freely down her face now. "It wasn't the money, Fox,"  
she blurted out between intermittent sobbing, "They told me I was  
advancing science. They told me that I was going to save the world.   
They said the only way to protect against the oncoming invasion   
was to create these beings who would be able to survive the   
onslaught. They wouldn't just combat the aliens, they would be the   
next step on the evolutionary ladder. Humanity is obsolete, Fox.   
The only way to secure our future is to genetically alter our   
offspring, to create men with the strength and wisdom of the alien   
race."  
  
"Then why were those women killed, Lauren?" he asked, "If those women  
are our future, why kill them? Why cover up the work that has been  
done?"  
  
Lauren wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "They were only the  
first, Fox," she said softly, "There were twelve of them, all  
generated under the project named 'Saving Grace'. They were  
genetically identical, but created to look different in their  
appearance. They were to function in normal society. They were   
given names, vocations, and homes. They were meant to find   
families, reproduce, and go about their everyday lives. This   
way no one would suspect that they were anything but human.   
Their offspring would be immune to the attack of the aliens.   
They would survive. But now something has gone wrong. For   
whatever reason, the initiator of the project, whoever he is,   
must have decided that they must not be allowed to survive.   
I was unaware of the deaths of the other subjects until the   
three turned up dead in my jurisdiction. Something must have   
gone wrong, terribly, terribly wrong."  
  
Mulder looked at her with a mixture of empathy and hatred. "It was  
wrong from the beginning," he said. He stood from his chair, and   
with a final look of disgust, he turned on his heels and walked   
out of the door. Alvarez buried her face in her hands and sobbed   
like a child.  
  
Philadelphia City Morgue  
11:12 A.M.  
  
Dana Scully flipped off the iridescent bulb that lightly illuminated  
the otherwise dark room. Even with the windows open, the examination  
room seemed uncannily murky, as obtuse and pervasive as the foul  
stench of death that permeated every corner. She pulled at the  
blood-stained latex gloves that masked her hands and glanced at her  
watch.  
  
"Nearly quarter after," she said aloud, tossing the gloves  
absent-mindedly in the waste container, "I wonder what Mulder's  
doing." The autopsy had taken considerably less time than she had  
anticipated. The reason for this was the curious nature of the  
findings that she had gathered from the victim, named Haley Thaddeus  
McKenzie. She was sure they would be of great interest to Mulder,   
and in response to this thought, she pulled her cell phone from   
the counter where she had securely placed it, just in case Mulder   
needed to call her first. She dialed the number she had dialed so   
many times in the past as she glanced at the body, still laying   
peacefully on the table slab. The phone rang twice before Mulder   
answered.  
  
"Mulder," he said.  
  
"Mulder, it's me," Scully replied, and then inquired, "Where   
are you?"  
  
Mulder was stooped down on a hardwood floor, removing scraps of hair  
from the crime scene, lest this body be taken for evidence, as well.   
"I'm at the victim's residence," he answered, "Where are you?"  
  
"I'm at the morgue," she informed him.   
  
"Scully," he asked playfully, "answer me truthfully. Do you see dead  
people?"  
  
"Listen, Mulder," she said, "There's something very odd about this  
murder."  
  
"Like what?" he asked.  
  
"Like the fact that this victim, Haley Thaddeus McKenzie, was not, as  
far as I can tell, killed by whatever it was that killed the other  
nine women."  
  
"What are you saying, Scully?" he asked, "That you don't think that  
this murder is related to the others?"  
  
"I'm not saying that at all," she replied, "What I'm trying to tell  
you is that the increased amounts of alcohol found in the other  
victims were not found in this girl. The tox-screen reported nothing  
unusual, nothing in large enough amounts to do anything other than to  
gradually destroy her kidneys, anyway."  
  
"Well then, Dr. Scully, to what do you attribute the cause of death?"  
  
"The cause of death appears to be due to the insertion of a sharp,  
thin object into the base of the back of the neck, directly between  
the second and third cervical vertebrae. I would associate this  
stabbing with the large loss of blood as evidenced by the scene   
of the crime.  
  
Mulder stood up and gazed at the chalk outline on the floor,  
surrounded in all directions by the bright, thick red blood which  
seemed to be distributed to every corner of the bedroom. "Yeah," he  
said, "I'm looking at it as we speak." He had seen a lot of  
despicable, disgusting events in his history as an agent, but   
this was unlike anything he had ever seen. Mulder began to feel   
queasy upon looking at it. "Scully, it looks like a butcher set   
up shop in here."  
  
"I figured that would be the case," she answered, "It appears   
that the murderer struck the neck with such force that it   
perforated the internal carotid artery."  
  
"Scully," he said, "serial killers aren't known to switch up their  
murderous tendencies. They are incredibly methodical, creatures of  
habit. The very definition of a serial killer is one who murders   
in a set pattern. Nothing suggests that this victim is linked to   
the others. The name isn't even Apostalic."  
  
"That's not necessarily true, Mulder," she answered.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean that her name is derived from the Twelve," she explained,  
"There are two followers mentioned in the Bible with the name   
'Judas'. One is surnamed 'Iscariot', the betrayer, and the other   
is named 'Thaddeus,' the middle name of the woman who was killed.   
In addition, the latest victim had something interesting carved   
in her back, Rev. 1:3."  
  
"I'm assuming that is a passage from the Gospel."  
  
"From the Book of Revelations," she quoted, "Blessed is the one who  
reads aloud and blessed are those who listen to this prophetic   
message and heed what is written in it, for the appointed time   
is near."  
  
"If that's true, Scully," he said, "and if this woman is the tenth  
victim in a series of twelve, then why would the murderer suddenly  
switch the method by which he killed his victims?"  
  
"I don't know, Mulder," she replied, "Maybe he ran out of whatever  
chemical it was that he was using to generate the reaction, or maybe  
this victim struggled more than the others and was able to defend  
herself and attempt an escape. Maybe his only option was to stab her  
from behind."  
  
"I don't think so, Scully," he answered, "Before the murder of this  
woman there were nine victims, all of which died in the span of   
little over eight months. Suddenly, there is another murder   
committed before the week is out, and not only that, but she is   
killed differently from all of the others."  
  
"What are you suggesting?"  
  
"I'm saying that maybe the killer is becoming more desperate," he  
answered, "that perhaps time is not on his side anymore and he needs  
to kill the rest to usher about whatever act he hopes will befall   
upon the death of the twelfth martyr."  
  
"If that is so, Mulder," she said, "then we need to find the other   
two test subjects before he strikes again."  
  
Mulder agreed, nodding his head though Scully couldn't see the  
gesture. Scully shifted uncomfortably at the absence of sound from  
the other end of the line. "Mulder," she said suddenly, "Do you mind  
if I ask you a question?"  
  
"Yes, Scully," he answered, "I do have a rash there but the doctors  
assured me that it would go away on its own."  
  
"Mulder," she sighed, "Why do you think that Lauren called us in on  
this case?"  
  
The silence at the other end was deafening.  
  
"What do you mean?" he finally managed to get out.  
  
"I mean, how would Lauren know that this victim was connected to the  
others? You didn't even know that they were linked at first glance,  
yet she seemed assured that this woman was the tenth victim."  
  
Mulder had thought of that, too. "I don't know," he said forcefully,  
"but I intend to find out."  
  
Liberty Bell Inn  
March 29, 2000  
10:13 A.M.  
  
Scully looked up past the data in her hand through her golden-framed  
glasses. She was sitting cross-legged on the motel bed wearing  
cream-colored suit pants and a white blouse with mother-of-pearl  
buttons down the center. Her golden cross hung limp across her   
neck, exposed by the V-neck of her shirt.  
  
"Scully, it's me," she heard Mulder's voice call, having had his very  
three insistent knocks go unanswered.  
  
Scully put the papers aside, throwing her glasses hastily on top of  
them. She rushed to the door and threw it open, exposing Mulder  
wearing the suit from the previous day, minus the jacket. The top  
button of his Oxford-shirt had been unbuttoned and his tie was   
undone, hanging loosely about his neck.  
  
"Mulder," she said breathlessly, "where have you been? I've been  
trying to get in contact with you all night but your phone   
wasn't on."  
  
"I know, Scully," he answered, "it didn't turn itself off." He   
walked into the room and plopped down into the chair by the   
window. He looked very tired. Scully seated herself back on   
the bed and leaned back on the headboard. She folded her arms   
crossly in front of her.  
  
"So, why'd you turn it off, then?" she asked, "Where were you?"  
  
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. "I was trying to  
hunt down the truth," he replied, "After our conversation, I went   
back to the precinct to find Lauren. I wanted to make an attempt   
to get her to divulge some more information, to see if she could   
tell us the names of the other two subjects that she created."  
  
"And?" Scully urged.  
  
"And nothing."  
  
Scully gazed at the figure of the emotionally and physically drained  
man who sat before her. "Maybe he should remove himself from this  
case," she thought, though she knew he would never stand for that.   
Still, she could see that he was too closely connected to Detective  
Alvarez, that whatever hold she held on him in the past still had   
some influence today. He was taking this very hard.  
  
"You mean she wouldn't tell you?" Scully asked.  
  
"No, I mean she couldn't. At approximately 11:50 A.M. yesterday,  
Lauren said she was going out to grab some lunch. She never   
returned. No one has seen from her or heard from her since.   
That was nearly twenty-three hours ago, and there's still no   
word on her whereabouts."  
  
Mulder opened his eyes and sat up. He could see in hers that her  
heart went out to him. They always retained that soft, teary effect  
whenever he was experiencing some traumatic event that carried the  
possibility of destroying his determination and hope for the future.   
He had seen that look in her eyes when his father was killed, and   
when they watched as the hybrid that he thought was his sister went   
over the bridge by the Potomac. And then again when they had   
planted that "alien" in the Arctic, and managed to persuade him   
that he was conned into playing the pawn in a game of   
disinformation all those years, that Samantha was never really   
abducted by aliens. She had stood by him, even with the cancer   
racking her body, and had lied to the Bureau heads about his   
supposed death, all to implicate Section Chief Blevins. And here   
she was, three years later, still standing by his side. He could   
only hope that he had provided her with some of the same comfort   
that she had given him.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mulder," she said, "I know this must be hard for you, and  
it's not going to get any easier."  
  
"What do you mean, Scully?" he asked, crossing one leg over the   
other, now fully alert to what she was saying. She looked terribly   
uneasy and he expected the worst.  
  
"Before we left Washington, I put a call in to Byers. I asked him to  
look up any information possible on Detective Alvarez, or her alias,  
Dr. Maria Valesquez."  
  
Mulder shook his head angrily. "Scully, I told you that I would take  
care of it myself."  
  
"I think you should hear me out," she interrupted him. He sat   
back in the chair and folded his hands together.  
  
"What did he find?" Mulder asked.  
  
"It seems that Dr. Valesquez's career in medicine can be traced back  
many decades. She graduated with honors from Yale in 1977.   
Immediately following, she immersed herself in studies at Harvard,  
graduating in 1981 after presenting a very impressive thesis to the  
faculty regarding the possibilities of stem cell research twenty   
years down the line. In 1982, she gained a position at Chimera   
where she worked on and published several studies in reference to   
the role of chromosomes and their effects on aging. In 1983,   
private donors took control of Chimera and continuing with the   
policy established by their secretive work, no more work of   
Valesquez's was ever published. Late in 1990, Valesquez left   
Chimera under odd circumstances. It seems that several fires   
were reported earlier in the year and damage was done sequentially   
to the facility. They were concluded to be the result of arson   
and many suspected Valesquez, but only circumstantial evidence   
could be found and the case was dismissed. By 1991, she had   
changed her name and identity, probably in an effort to hide   
from the men who had backed the project and suspected her. She   
had moved to New York and was in training to become a member of   
law enforcement when an internship moved her unexpectedly back to   
D.C., where she began working at the Bureau and met you."  
  
"That's all very interesting, Scully," he said while she paused to  
take a breath, "but what does it have to do with these murders."  
  
"Mulder, you've got to see the connection," she answered, "I   
mean, the women who were created under her hand are now dying,   
by her hand as well, I suspect. She was accused of starting   
those fires in Washington, maybe she came across something for   
which even she believed that humanity wasn't ready. I believe   
that she is trying to destroy all of the evidence now, just like   
she tried to destroy the evidence then."  
  
"Then what about the Two-Face, Scully?" he asked, "If Lauren is  
guilty, then why is a Yellow-Haired Man and a Black-Haired Man   
running around stealing the bodies of dead women?"  
  
"I think," she replied, "that the question you should be asking is if  
she isn't guilty, then why did she run?"  
  
Mulder looked deeply saddened. "I just can't believe that she's  
capable of this," he said sorrowfully.  
  
"There's more, Mulder," Scully replied, "I had those samples that you  
sent from the scene analyzed. The DNA matched the DNA of the hair  
samples that we gathered from the other two victims."  
  
"So this woman is a clone of the others then?"  
  
"It appears that way," she answered. "and if you are correct and the  
murderer is becoming more desperate, then we have to find the killer  
quickly, before she strikes again." Scully looked at Mulder, guilt  
plastered across her face. "I've put out an A.P.B. on Detective  
Alvarez," she said quietly.  
  
Mulder looked at her hard and then stood up swiftly. "Let's get  
going, Scully," he said, "I don't want you to miss all the action   
when they pick her up." He departed quickly from the room. Scully   
sat speechless for a moment, then stood, grabbed her coat, and   
followed him. She closed the door silently and locked it, not   
daring to look back.  
  
Interstate 95  
10:42 A.M.  
  
"Thank you." Scully turned off the cell phone, closed it, and placed  
it back into her coat pocket. She turned towards Mulder who was  
expertly weaving in and out of traffic on the crowded highway. "Dr.  
Sykes said that she does not know the names of the last two subjects,  
nor can she provide us with any information regarding their present  
whereabouts."  
  
"That's as much as I expected, Scully," he answered, "She did say   
that she was only responsible for the work on the Purity Control   
genome."  
  
"And you believe her?"  
  
Mulder smirked and switched into first gear, turning his head to  
glance at her as often as possible. "Don't you?" he asked.  
  
"I don't know what to believe anymore," she told him truthfully,  
"We've been jerked around so often that I don't who's telling the  
truth and who's lying."  
  
"You know, Scully," he said, "you should really have a little more  
faith."  
  
She turned from him and looked out the front window, expressing a  
barely audible scoff so that he would be aware of her displeasure.   
She crossed her arms over her chest and then turned towards him   
again.  
  
"Why stick shift, Mulder?" she asked.  
  
"Hmm, what's that?"  
  
"I said, why did you rent a car with stick shift?" she repeated,   
"Does it make you feel like more of a man?"  
  
"C'mon, Scully," he said, "you know you like a man who can handle his  
stick." A broad smile was now quite visible on his lips.  
  
She turned to the front of the car. Something was playing across her  
mind, evidenced by a thin smile on her face. Her eyes danced merrily  
as she chuckled softly.  
  
Mulder looked at her. "What is it?" he asked her, smiling at her  
present condition.  
  
"Oh, it's nothing."  
  
"No, really," he prodded, "you can tell me."  
  
She appeared as though she was deciding whether or not to say what it  
was she was thinking. She mulled it over a little while longer until  
she finally complied. "Okay," she said. She leaned in close to him,  
almost whispering, "Sometimes, at night, I lie awake."  
  
She never got to complete the sentence. The cell phone buzzed in her  
pocket.  
  
"Excuse me, Mulder," she said, "I have to get this."  
  
Mulder stared at her, a painstaking look coming over his face.   
"Wha, wha, wait, Scully," he stammered, "let it ring. We don't   
ever talk enough. Why don't you finish what you were saying?"  
  
She shrugged her shoulders and put the phone against her ear.   
"Scully," she said, and then, pointing forward, she directed   
Mulder to "watch the road."  
  
He turned his attention to the car in front of him in time to see the  
driver slam on his brakes. Mulder narrowly missed destroying his  
security deposit as he listened to Scully's end of the conversation,  
"Uh huh, sure, okay, we'll be right there."  
  
She put the phone away as she turned towards Mulder. "You better   
turn the car around, Mulder," she instructed him, "there's just   
been another murder."  
  
Ben Franklin Drive  
11:12 A.M.  
  
"What was her name?" Mulder asked, pulling back the blue tarp that  
covered the face of the newest victim. She was laying facedown   
on the sidewalk of the busy street flanked by newspaper stands and  
Mom-and-Pop stores.  
  
"Elizabeth Peters," responded a nearby detective who was taking over  
the investigation in Alvarez's unexpected absence, "She was   
twenty-two years old, a receptionist at a legal firm four blocks   
from here. According to the women she worked with, she was   
well-liked and without any known enemies. They know of no one that   
would wish to do any harm to her."  
  
"Well they certainly hit the head on the nail there, didn't they?"  
Mulder replied, and then crouched on the ground, he glanced up   
towards his partner. "Scully, come look at this," he instructed,   
and she instantly crouched beside him. He pulled the victim's   
long, wavy, brown hair off her back with the swift movement of a   
surgically-gloved hand.  
  
"There," he said, pointing towards her neck. He was motioning   
towards the same puncture wound that had been found on the   
previous victim.  
  
"Another stabbing," Scully said aloud.   
  
Mulder replaced the hair and then stood up. Scully followed suit.   
"What are you thinking?" she asked.  
  
"Scully," he said, "I don't think it's an accident where the victims  
were stabbed."  
  
"Neither do I, Mulder," she answered, "It's well known that striking  
the carotid artery in the neck will induce massive blood loss,  
correlating in a relatively quick and easy death."  
  
"Sure," Mulder replied sarcastically, "who wouldn't know that?"  
  
Scully scowled. "What do you think the answer is, then?" she asked.  
  
"We've seen this before, Scully," he reminded her, "Remember when we  
first met Jeremiah Smith? The being who wanted to kill him carried  
the same weapon that I found in my summer home up in Quanachataug.   
The only way to kill Jeremiah was to strike a single blow to the base  
of his neck."  
  
Scully looked doubtful. "Let me save you the trouble, Mulder," she  
said, "Even if these women are alien-human hybrids and can,   
therefore, only be killed in the same manner as Jeremiah Smith,   
only the last two victims have been murdered by a blow to the neck.   
How do you account for the deaths of the other nine?"  
  
Mulder had an answer for that, too. "I think that you were right,  
Scully, that whoever created these hybrids wants to destroy the  
evidence. Dr. Sykes told us that the mission of the hybrids was to  
'go forth and multiply.' I believe that they are now being  
systematically terminated. Perhaps there were found to carry 'faulty  
wiring,' that the geneticists could not engineer them to behave  
specifically as they wished. Whatever the motivation, I believe that  
the same people who had the scientific knowledge to create them also  
had the advanced knowledge to destroy them. At first, that person   
was using a special chemical that he had synthetically produced.   
It would be easy to do, considering he knew enough about putting   
them together in the first place. The murders were committed using   
the chemical because its presence would most likely go unnoticed and   
the women would be buried before any connection would be made among   
them and the other victims. But since our involvement in the case,   
the murderer has become more desperate, because we are coming closer   
to the truth everyday. He now knows that it has become a greater   
liability to allow them to live rather then to cover up their   
murders. An attempt to steal the last body hasn't even been made."  
  
A frown marred Scully's otherwise striking features. "Mulder," she  
said gently, "you keep saying 'he,' but if everything is as you say,  
then you must allow for the possibility that Detective Alvarez is   
both the alpha and omega, here, the creator and the destroyer, that   
it is by her doing that these women are dying. She is still   
missing."  
  
"I can't talk about this right now," he replied defiantly, anger and  
irritation at once arising in his voice. He turned and walked  
fiercely towards their rental.  
  
Scully turned towards the officer and hastily commanded, "If you find  
out anything about the victim or of Detective Alvarez's whereabouts,  
please call me on my cell phone." With that, she turned and raced  
towards Mulder.  
  
"Where are you going?" she called to him, but he had gained, by this  
time, such a significant lead that he could not hear her words. He  
paused at the car door only long enough to unlock it. "Where are you  
going?" she asked again when she was close enough so that he might  
hear.  
  
"I'm going to go find that last name before another body turns   
up," he replied.  
  
"How exactly are you going to do that, Mulder?" she asked, "We've   
been on this case all this time and we still have no idea of whom   
we're looking for. She could be anyone. How are you going to   
find her name?"  
  
"I'm going to pay a visit to the Three Wise Men," he answered,   
seating himself in the driver's seat. He started the car and   
then suddenly turned it off again. He took the keys from the   
ignition and alighted from the chair. He tossed them to Scully,   
saying, "On second thought, you keep the car. You're going to   
need it."  
  
"Why?" she asked, "What is my assignment?"   
  
"I need you to stay here in case the killer finds his next victim  
before I do." He waved his hand and a yellow taxicab pulled up  
alongside of him. He opened the door. While entering, he turned  
towards her and quietly suggested that she "Get a warrant and search  
Lauren's apartment." With that, he closed the door and the cab drove  
quickly and haphazardly down the road. 


	6. Breaking Into Chimera

Chimera Genetics  
917 Titan Avenue  
March 30, 2000  
12:29 A.M.  
  
"Langly, can you hear me?" Fox Mulder, dressed in black from head to  
foot, adjusted the communication device on his tight-fitting shirt.   
He lightly touched the barely-noticeable piece that rested in his   
ear.  
  
"Loud and clear, Mulder," the slightly nasally voice answered back.   
Langly was underground, crouched into a fetal position, and flanked   
on all sides by wires of every shape and size jutting into a modern   
day Gordian knot. He was joined by Frohike who was seated on his   
right, carrying a small, high-powered flashlight that, next to the   
glare from Langly's suped-up laptop, provided the only source of   
visible illumination.  
  
"Ten more seconds and we'll have you on visual, Mulder," Frohike  
informed him.  
  
"Great. I always knew that I would make it to the small screen," he  
replied. Mulder glanced anxiously at Byers who was performing   
lookout duties. His usual well-tailored, gray suit was replaced   
with a long, black duster. Mulder smiled through his anxiety.   
He looked so out of context, no tie, jacket. He paced   
precariously back and forth, apprehension evident in his face.  
  
"You better hurry up, Langly," he said, "the guards will be returning  
to their posts at precisely 12:30 A.M., that's only 26.45   
seconds from now."  
  
"I'm working on it," Langly replied, his fingers clinking   
furiously on the keys, "Wait, wait, here we go."  
  
"Main security cameras have been overridden," Frohike informed the  
group. He watched the computer screen as the image of Mulder came  
into view. "Big Brother's watching, Mulder," he told him.  
  
"Langly," he instructed, "watch Frohike's hands for me. I don't want  
him to get all voyeuristic up there on me."  
  
"I can't promise you anything, Mulder," he said.  
  
"Yeah," Frohike chimed in, "I can't help it. You're too much of a  
sexy bitch."  
  
The light banter was cut short by the sound of Byers' voice over the  
line. "I have a visual confirmation on the guards," he said, looking  
at his watch. It read precisely 12:30 A.M. His view was slightly  
obscured behind the bushes where he was positioned, so he cautiously  
eased his head around. He watched as the guards double-checked the  
padlocks on the building and searched the grounds for any   
trespassers. Byers ducked his head back behind the bush. After a   
couple seconds, he felt confident that they were gone and he summed   
up the courage to look a second time. He watched as the guards   
finished their search and turned to leave.  
  
"They're on the move, Mulder," Byers told him.  
  
"So am I," he said, "Wish me luck, boys."  
  
Mulder advanced towards the side entrance of the facility, sheltered  
by the shadowy sheath of darkness. "I want that door unlocked by the  
time I get there," he told them.  
  
"We're already working on it," Langly informed him. He gazed back at  
the glowing screen. "Double password protected," he said to no   
one in particular, "whatever they've got in there, they want   
it kept under tight raps."  
  
Frohike watched as the security camera picked up Mulder next to the  
door. "I'm at the entrance," Mulder told them, "I'm a little  
disappointed it's not open yet. I was told you guys were the best in  
the business."  
  
"You get what you pay for," Frohike retorted.  
  
"You've got one minute and fifteen seconds until the guards complete  
their rotation," Byers told Langly.  
  
"Don't rush me," Langly said, booting up a password program, "See,  
we're already through the first lock." He beamed, waiting for the  
approbation of his friends. Instead, all he received was a simple  
"About time" muttered by Mulder under his breath as the steel clasp  
holding the door in place jutted to an unlocked position.  
  
"Forty-five seconds and counting," Byers said.  
  
"Plenty of time," Langly replied while hacking into the second   
lock.   
  
"For me, yeah," Frohike said, "but for you, I'm not so sure." Langly  
smiled, but his friend noticed the look of concern on his face as the  
computer recognized the requirements for the next lock.  
  
"Uh oh," Langly breathed. It was a nearly inaudible slip and Mulder  
would certainly not have been able to hear it, were it not for the  
state-of-the-line communications equipment provided by the Gunmen.  
  
"What do you mean, 'Uh oh'?" he hissed, his voice rising a little  
louder then preferred for someone breaking into a high-security  
facility.  
  
"No biggie, Mulder," Frohike assured him, "The second lock is a  
numerical password, twelve digits that change variably every minute.   
We'll have it up soon."  
  
"We don't have a minute," Mulder's voice came back angrily.  
  
"That's good," Frohike said, "because I said it changes every   
minute. If we spent more than a minute cracking this code,   
more alarms would go off than the time Langly tried to steal   
'Debbie Does Dallas' from Blockbuster."  
  
"Well you better hope you get it done in under a minute,   
then," Mulder told them, "or you'll be enjoying Debbie   
from a six by six foot cell."  
  
"It's okay, Mulder," Langly said, simply willing the computer to read  
through the possible numbers as quickly as possible, "we've already  
gotten through eight of the digits."  
  
"Twenty seconds," Byers called.  
  
"Langly, get this high-tech piece of shit open right now!" Mulder  
whispered uneasily into the microphone.  
  
"Two more to go, Mulder."  
  
Byers pulled a pair of binoculars over his eyes. "They're   
approaching you, Mulder," he told him, "They are relatively   
fifty yards away from the main gate."  
  
"Langly!" Mulder exclaimed.  
  
"Got it," he replied as the second lock pulled away and Mulder ducked  
hastily into the doorway.  
  
Mulder barely breathed a sigh of relief before he asked them, "Where  
am I going?"  
  
"Head straight down this hall, Mulder," Frohike replied, "and make a  
left, now." The lanky figure on Langly's computer screen turned down  
a dark hallway. "Duck into that room on the right," he told him,  
"number 82."  
  
Mulder did as he was told. He saw the camera in the corner of the  
room follow his movements. Somehow, it made him feel secure knowing  
that his three friends were there with him. The room was an   
expansive laboratory composed of lengthy counters filled with   
instruments used to conduct research. Magnetic stirrers swirled   
in 1000mL Erlenmeyer flasks and the gentle humming from a device   
that said "Cytometer" on the front panel offered the only noise   
in the room.  
  
"Now what?" Mulder asked.  
  
"There should be a computer in there where the team stores all their  
research," Langly responded, "Find it and hook us in to the   
terminal."  
  
Mulder walked slowly around the room, gazing from this way to that.   
"There's at least ten of them in here," he said, "How do I know which  
one is the right one?" As soon as the words were out of his lips, he  
noticed a small office that was situated in the back of the room.  
  
"Dr. Cynthia Rochester," Langly read aloud.  
  
"Why does that name sound so familiar?" Mulder asked.  
  
"She was number three on the list of geneticists that we gave you,  
Mulder," Frohike replied, "Right behind Dr. Elizabeth Sykes and the  
esteemed Dr. Maria Valesquez."  
  
"This has got to be it," Mulder said, pulling out a device closely  
resembling a handgun with an exceptionally long, thin needle on the  
end. He quickly picked the lock and replaced the device in his  
pocket. He slowly opened the door, revealing a beautifully furnished  
office, complete with an oak desk, a well-stocked bookcase, and  
several green plants. Mulder seated himself in the plush, leather  
chair and placed his hand on the keyboard. "Here we go, boys, get  
ready to lock and load."  
  
Mulder drew out some well-placed wires hidden behind his back that  
were given to him by Langly along with the microphone and earpiece.   
"Place it in the hole to the bottom left," he heard Langly command.  
  
"Oh, Langly," Mulder said, "I love it when you talk dirty about my  
hard drive."  
  
Frohike smirked and Langly continued with his directions, "Place the  
other end into the hardware on your wrist." Mulder looked at his  
right hand. He had been given the cumbersome box-like device and  
simply told that it would "come in handy."  
  
"It'll give us access to whatever it is that's hidden in there,"  
Langly explained, "We'll be able copy, erase, or implant   
anything that we want to, right from the comfort of our   
own uncomfortable underground hideout."  
  
"The wonders of technology," Mulder sighed.  
  
Mulder booted up the system and hooked the computer to the device on  
his wrist. The screen flashed a lovely azure, signaling that it was  
ready for use.  
  
"I can't see," Langly whined.  
  
"Well, zoom in, damn it," Frohike said gruffly. Langly did as he was  
so kindly asked and overrode the surveillance camera controls.  
  
"Simon says take one step left, Mulder," Frohike's voice called over  
his earpiece, "Your fat head is blocking our view."  
  
Mulder let out an irritated smile. "Fat head," he mumbled to   
himself, "Melvin, why don't you kiss my."  
  
"Watch it, Mulder," Frohike pre-empted him, "Think of Byers and his  
virgin ears."  
  
Mulder stepped to the side and allowed Frohike and Langly to get a  
better view. The first screen consisted of a white, rectangular   
block that was password protected.  
  
"No problem," Langly told Mulder, clicking away at the keyboard.   
Mulder watched as the black circles appeared at the typing   
prompt, and almost instantly, the screen was gone. In its   
place was a screen with numerous icons, some personal items  
-email, links- but mainly word processing folders.  
  
"Give us a minute," Langly said, "we'll get what we came for and then  
you can get your ass out of there." Through the device on Mulder's  
hand, Langly accessed the folders. One would open, he would browse  
through it quickly, and then it would be gone, another opening up in  
its stead.  
  
"Do a search for Project Saving Grace," Mulder instructed.   
Langly and Frohike glanced at each other, a delighted look   
appearing on both of their faces.  
  
"When have you ever touched a computer, Mulder," Frohike   
asked, "other than to store your porn, that is? Why   
don't you just leave the hacking to the professionals?"  
  
"Just do it," he answered. The tone in his voice intimated that he  
was no longer fooling around, and Langly thought it best that they  
comply.  
  
"Alright," he said, "but I don't see what good it'll do." His words  
were cut short as the image of a three-dimensional helical structure  
on a black background popped-up in a window, followed by a file  
hundreds of pages long entitled "Project Saving Grace: An   
analysis of the progress in DNA hybridization over the past   
two decades."  
  
"Oh my God," Frohike said under his breath, as Langly chimed in, "How  
did you know?"  
  
  
  
Byers put the binoculars to his eyes. He watched in despair as at  
least ten camouflaged-colored jeeps rolled up to the facility,  
followed by three long, black cars. He watched as soldier after  
soldier jumped from the jeeps, each carrying a loaded semi-automatic  
rifle. He ducked behind a bush for cover as the security guards  
opened the gates. Several men in well-tailored black suits emerged  
from the black automobiles.  
  
Byers picked up the collar of his suit and held it inches from his  
mouth. "Mulder," he said, "we've got trouble. You've got to get out  
of there right now. Did you hear me? You need to evacuate the  
building as soon as possible."  
  
"Why, Byers?" he heard Mulder's anxious voice over the line, "What's  
going on out there?"  
  
"They know you're here, Mulder," he answered, "They're coming for  
you."  
  
A tall, slightly overweight man with gray hair stepped out from the  
back seat of the first black car. He closed the door behind him,   
then pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket. He   
pulled one from the case and gracefully, with one single motion,   
placed it between his lips. He grabbed a golden lighter from   
the other pocket, engraved with the inscription "Trust No One,"   
and pulled back the covering. He protected the lighter from   
the night wind with one hand and drew the cold metal against   
the flint with the other. He lit the cigarette, replaced the   
lighter in his pocket, and took a few long drags to get the   
fire burning.  
  
A man dressed in camouflage garb approached the smoker. "What are  
your orders, sir?" he asked the man in the suit.  
  
"Bring the intruder to me, Captain," he said amidst a cloud of smoke,  
"I want him alive, damaged if necessary, but alive." He took   
a couple of long drags as the captain walked away to carry out   
the orders. "Oh, and Captain," he called to him as the captain   
turned to listen to the rest of the smoker's commands, "If he   
gets away from you, you'll be filing away the rest of your   
prodigious career as a desk clerk in Guam."  
  
"Yes, sir," the captain replied, one hand raised to the forehead in a  
salute and the other holding on to the gun at his side. And with  
that, he was gone.  
  
The Smoking-Man took one final drag and a threw the cigarette on the  
ground. He squelched the flame with a single swipe of his  
highly-polished, expensive shoes. "Now if only I could squash Mulder  
this easily," he thought to himself as he viewed the proceedings, "if  
only."  
  
  
  
"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying!" Mulder yelled into the microphone, "I'm  
going as fast as I can, but I am not leaving here without these  
files!" He watched as the bar on the "Copying" command traveled from  
zero to one hundred percent.  
  
"Mulder," Byers told him, "It's not safe to stay in there any   
longer. The soldiers have entered the building and are coming   
your way. You must get out. Whatever is on those files won't   
matter if they get to you before you can read them."  
  
The percentage bar continued to increase.  
  
"C'mon, c'mon," Mulder willed under his breath.  
  
"He's right, man," he heard Langly say, "You've got to get out of  
there now. They're already at the first hallway." Langly watched  
helplessly through the vantage point of the lens of the surveillance  
camera. The army of green and black seemed never-ending.  
  
"Get the hell out of there, Mulder!" Frohike's voice raised   
well above its normal pitch.  
  
"There!" he exclaimed, relieved that the copying procedure   
had finally come to completion, "Did you get it?"  
  
Langly checked his screen. It read 'File Copy Completed'. "Every  
last bit," he answered.  
  
Mulder unplugged the device from the computer console. He could hear  
the footsteps treading heavily in his direction. "Be my eyes and  
ears," he said nervously, "Where am I going?"  
  
Langly pulled up a map of the layout of the building that they had  
used earlier to gain access to the laboratory. "There should be a  
door behind you, Mulder," he said, "Go through it in turn right down  
the hall."  
  
Mulder turned instinctively towards the sound of the lab's main door  
slamming open. He heard what sounded like a hundred guns being  
simultaneously cocked. He turned back and opened the door, ran  
through, and shut it as quickly and quietly as possible behind him.  
  
"Now what?" he asked.  
  
"The stairs, Mulder," Langly answered, "Go down one more level.   
That'll be the basement." Mulder complied and ran down the steps.   
Upon reaching the bottom, he threw open the door and gazed into  
another unlit hallway.  
  
"Straight," Langly told him, "and make a left at the fork.   
Go all the way to the end, through the door, and out the side.   
Byers will have the car waiting for you."  
  
Byers was already seated in the bulky, dingy van. "I'm already  
there," he said, advancing towards the side entrance with the  
headlights turned off. He waited for what seemed an eternity   
until he finally saw a door open and a tall, lanky figure   
dash out into the shadows.  
  
"He's coming your way," Frohike said. Mulder advanced towards   
the car and opened the passenger's side.  
  
"The Eagle has landed," Byers said as Mulder seated himself and the  
car began to inch away.  
  
Mulder glanced at him, visibly tired from the impromptu workout.   
"The Eagle has landed?" he asked, "Couldn't you come up with   
something a little more original, Byers?"  
  
Byers shrugged. "I always wanted to say that," he replied, "Didn't  
you ever want to be an astronaut?"  
  
Mulder thought about the time one of his excursions with Scully had  
led him to Mission Control to save a shuttle and its crew from the  
angry entity that was carried within the person of Marcus Aurelius  
Belt. He shuddered at the thought of all those who had died in the  
Apollo missions and the Challenger explosion. "Not really," he  
answered, then said, "Let's go pick up Wally and the Beave. I'm sure  
they're anxious to see what they almost got me killed for."  
  
Washington, D.C.  
Undisclosed Location  
1:42 A.M.  
  
"This is amazing, Mulder, this diskette is the motherload. It  
contains everything about Project Saving Grace since its   
inception two decades ago." Langly was once again seated at a   
computer screen, but this time it was the state-of-the-art   
machinery located in the Lone Gunmen's headquarters. Langly,   
Byers, Frohike, and Mulder were all gathered around the screen,   
attempting to go through the hundreds of pages of files as   
quickly and efficiently as time permitted.  
  
"Look at that," Byers said excitedly, pointing to a picture of what  
looked like a coiled ladder, "It's the entire hybrid genome, every  
nucleotide broken down into its most miniscule parts. If we can  
analyze this, it's possible that we could determine what the compound  
was that was used to kill those women."  
  
"And below it, there," Frohike added, "they've put case studies of  
every female hybrid that was created through the experiments.   
They've got their names, addresses, occupations," he smiled at   
Mulder, continuing, "sexual encounters. Everything down to their   
favorite foods."  
  
"Listen to this," Langly said, reading from the text, "'Project   
Saving Grace was initiated in 1953 when the discovery of   
deoxyribonucleic acid by scientists James Watson and Francis   
Crick generated new possibilities in the fields of genetics   
and microbiology. Implementing the work of both privately   
and publicly-funded scientists, the collective head of the   
project was able to carry out the work of extrapolating the   
secrets hidden within both human DNA and the DNA recovered   
from an extraterrestrial biological entity (E.B.E.) that was   
recovered dead, but otherwise intact, from a crash site in   
New Mexico. The work progressed without the benefits of   
tangible recompense until the takeover of Chimera Genetics   
in 1983 by private donors, men and women unknown to the   
world, erased from history. Their names will never be   
known to the masses, but they have donated their resources,   
their wealth, and their lives to the pursuit of one goal:   
to preserve life as human beings know it, to maintain   
humankind against the coming destruction. This savior of   
the world will not come in the form of the Son of Man, sent   
from Heaven to smite the evil and retrieve the worthy in   
the name of everlasting salvation. Instead, the savior   
will come from earth, the product of the ingenious who   
will fashion a new man, a synthetic hybrid, from the blood   
of man and his future exterminators, the   
extraterrestrials'."  
  
"That's all very interesting," Mulder said, "but it's nothing that I  
don't already know." Byers, Langly, and Frohike all raised their  
eyebrows and cocked their heads to the side. "You guys can   
handle all the DNA analysis and the historical background of   
the project," Mulder said, "All I need to know is the name   
of the twelfth hybrid."  
  
"No problem," Langly said. He leafed casually through the   
pages until he came across the section that contained all   
of the experiments' information. "I'll print you out a   
copy, Mulder," he said, and did so.  
  
Mulder grabbed the page as it emerged from the printer. "Julia Marie  
Thomas," he read aloud, "She lives right here in D.C.."   
Mulder turned and walked towards the door.  
  
"Where are you going now, Mulder?" Frohike asked.  
  
"I'm going to halt the Apocalypse," he yelled back, "hold all my  
calls."  
  
Julia Thomas Residence  
696 Massachusetts Ave.  
10:12 A.M.  
  
The loud banging of the garbage truck stirred Mulder from a peaceful  
slumber. The sunlight from the cloudless day shone in through the  
dashboard window of the car that had served as his bed for the   
night. "Aw, shit," he said, closing his eyes until they adjusted   
to the morning light. He rubbed his lids and then the back of   
his neck which was incredibly sore due to the uncomfortable   
sleeping position mandated by his upright pose. "What time is   
it?" he asked himself aloud, and then looked at the watch on   
his hand, "10:15, great."  
  
He had spent the better half of the early morning staking-out the  
apartment that the database had said was the living quarters of the  
twelfth and final experiment, Ms. Julia Marie Thomas. He had watched  
the lights in her apartment turn on and off at approximately 2:30,   
and then waited patiently to make sure no one went in or out without   
his knowledge. He guessed that he must have drifted off to sleep   
sometime about an hour later. He was just so tired. He had gotten   
more sleep in that one sitting than he had had from all the other   
days combined since he had heard about the case. He was debating   
whether or not he should get up and check on her suite when he   
noticed an old, white van with the insignia "Rappaport   
Telephone Company" drive up and park on the side of the road.  
  
He watched the back of the man as he descended from the vehicle. He  
was covered in the company's dark, blue suit with the logo stamped on  
it and a blue cap which concealed his face. Only a small portion of  
his long, black hair could be viewed underneath the hat which adorned  
his head. He opened the back doors and pulled out a small set of  
tools from the floor. He closed the door and entered the apartment  
building.  
  
Mulder stepped from his car and followed him, relieved to have the  
chance to be able to stretch his legs. He walked towards the front  
stoop and up the stairs, being sure to maintain a careful distance  
from the viewpoint of the worker. Putting a hand on the front door  
knob, he noticed that the "9" in the address "696" had become  
partially unhinged and was hanging upside down. "666," he said  
thoughtfully, "I wonder if that's a bad sign." He shrugged it off,  
opened the doors and entered the building, coming at once to   
a fork in the road. He looked long and hard in each direction   
but did not see the man that was the object of his pursuit.   
A woman approached him from the right hallway.  
  
"Excuse me, ma'am," he stopped her, pulling out his badge, "did you  
happen to see a man walk this way? He had blonde hair and was   
wearing a blue suit?"  
  
"I saw a man wearing a blue suit," she answered, "but he had blonde  
hair, not black."  
  
"What did the suit have on it?" he asked.  
  
"I think it had some kind of patch," she answered, "some   
phone company or something."  
  
"Which way did he go?"  
  
"Towards the elevator, down the hall," she told him, and pointed down  
the hallway.  
  
"Thank you," he replied hurriedly as his pace picked up from a  
fast-walking stride to full-out jogging. He ran towards the elevator  
and watched as the number five was lit. He looked down at the paper  
in his hand. "Apartment room 552," he said to himself, and looked  
left and right for the stairwell. He pushed open the door underneath  
the "Exit" sign and ran up the steps, two at a time, until he reached  
the fifth floor. He ran down the hallway, glancing at the numbers on  
the doors. 549, 550, 551, 552. The door was already   
slightly ajar. He pulled the gun from his hip and placed   
both hands on it, straightening them in front of his body.   
He kicked the door open and advanced into the room.  
  
"Federal agent," he screamed, "don't move." He looked around the  
room. No one was there. "Federal agent," he said again,   
"I'm armed." He circled what looked to be the living room,   
mentally taking in every possible detail. He walked   
towards the coffee table, spotting something on the edge.   
He put his index finger into the red puddle and lifted it   
back up again, revealing fresh, bright, red blood.  
  
"Come out right now," he said, "I know you're still here."   
Beyond the couch, he could see a door open, leading to   
another room in the house. He walked towards it, eyes   
straight ahead. As he walked, he was suddenly stopped   
as his foot got caught on something. It was the body   
of a beautiful redhead, laying in a crumpled mass from   
where she fell to the floor. He bent down and touched   
his finger to her neck, feeling for a pulse. There was   
none. She was already gone.  
  
Lauren Alvarez Residence  
4077 Pierceford Crossing  
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania  
  
"That's the one." Scully turned and looked in the direction that the  
man in her passenger's seat was pointing. "That is the residence of  
Detective Alvarez."  
  
Scully put her hand to her jacket pocket and felt inside. The   
warrant papers that had taken all night to obtain were now   
resting there securely within her grasp. She patted them once   
or twice and then unbuckled her seat belt. "Let's go,   
Detective," she said, portraying her usual calm, disaffected   
demeanor.  
  
They stepped from the car and began walking towards the door.   
Grabbing on to the side railing for support, Scully proceeded up the  
front steps, followed at close length by the investigator.  
  
"Detective Alvarez?" Scully called, rapping loudly on the screen   
door, "Detective Alvarez, this is Special Agent Dana Scully.   
We have a warrant to search the premises. Open the door now   
or risk federal condemnation." Scully waited for an answer,   
but there was no reply. She nodded to the detective as she   
grabbed for the gun at her hip. He nodded back in response   
to the signal. He opened the screen door and held it back   
for her as she raised her gun towards heaven. With one deft   
move, she kicked the door ajar and walked into the house, her   
gun leading the way in a threatening horizontal posture.  
  
"I'll check down here," she told the twenty-or-so officers clad in  
bullet-proof vests. She looked over in the detective's direction.   
"Take some men and check upstairs," she commanded. He obliged and  
proceeded towards the second floor while she scoped out the rooms  
downstairs. She checked every conceivable hiding space, every nook  
and cranny, but Alvarez was nowhere to be found. She walked towards  
the front door and saw the detective descending the stairs.  
  
"She's not upstairs," he informed her.  
  
"She's not down here, either," she responded, pointing towards the  
papers and objects strewn about the floor, "and by the look of the  
uncharacteristically disheveled appearance of this house, I'd say   
that she cleared out in a hurry." She turned towards him. "I   
want your men to search everything," she instructed, "leave   
nothing overlooked."  
  
The detective put a hand to his hip. "You know," he said, "this   
would be a lot easier if I knew what we were searching for."  
  
"Yes, it would," she answered, turning to search a different room,  
"I'll let you know when I find it." She walked forward, through the  
hall and past the cozy kitchenette. She entered a room that she had  
glossed over earlier in her search to find Alvarez. It was by far   
the most intriguing of all the rooms she had seen. There was a   
baby-grand piano seated on a Persian rug next to a large   
bay window. Opulent vases and ethnic works were strewn   
in a seemingly flawless and cohesive style about the room.   
A majestic oaken desk was situated in the corner of the   
room and a lovely fireplace was positioned opposite the   
piano.  
  
Above it, a mantle was filled to the brim with pictures. She gazed  
through them, intrigued at the prospect of gaining some insight into  
the mind of this brilliant woman, much like herself, who desired so  
greatly to change her course in life that she gave up her career as a  
trained scientist and devoted her life to law enforcement, instead.   
She glanced over the pictures, from left to right, but the final  
picture on the end of the mantle caught her eye. A young Alvarez  
gazed longingly into the eyes of a tall, handsome man, which were  
filled with a familiar passion that Scully had come to rely on so  
faithfully over the years. He had one hand about her waist and a  
drink in the other. She had her arms folded about his neck, a   
gesture of the intimacy that Scully was afraid to feel. It was a   
photo of years past, of the hopes of youth for the future. Now   
that the future was here, Alvarez was looking to the past. After   
all these years, she had held on to the hope that she and Mulder   
would be together again. "No wonder they shared a life together,"   
Scully thought wistfully,"she must share the same passion as he,   
to have held on to this picture for so long, to have let a dream   
dominate her thoughts after the passing of so much time."  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of crinkling   
underneath her feet. She stooped down and picked up the picture   
that must have been neglected in Alvarez's hurried attempt to   
leave her home free of incriminating evidence. It was a faded   
photograph of Alvarez, lying on a bed in some sort of medical   
facility. There were all sorts of wires hooked up to her and   
she was surrounded by five men in crisp, white labcoats.   
Scully turned the picture over. Her mouth dropped as she   
read the inscription written in black ink from a fountainpen.   
It read, "First successful experiment of 'Saving Grace',   
Maria Valesquez, 1963."  
  
Julia Thomas Residence  
696 Massachusetts Ave.  
Washington, D.C.  
  
"Damn it!" Mulder said to himself, shaking his head in  
self-deprecation, "I should have prevented this." He stood up and  
seated himself on the couch, contemplating what course of action he  
should take next. He picked up the cell phone from his pocket,  
prepared to call the Bureau and to have the body taken from   
the house, when it rang unexpectedly in his hand.  
  
"Mulder," he answered.  
  
"Mulder, Langly, here."  
  
"Langly, what do you want?" he asked.  
  
"Mulder, we found something that I think you ought to know." Langly,  
phone held up to his right ear, looked across the desk at his  
companions. They nodded in assent, urging him forward.  
  
"Well, what is it?" Mulder questioned.  
  
"It's about Project Saving Grace," he replied, "We were going through  
the pages of files after you left. Eventually, we came across a  
section that contained references to experimentation that paved the  
way for the twelve women that were created, hybrids of less stable  
composition who were considered 'successful experiments,' but   
who were in all actuality more alien than human."  
  
"Just spit it out, Langly," Mulder said, putting his free hand to his  
head. He had had, by all accounts, a trying day and he was growing  
the slightest bit impatient listening to the long-winded explanations  
of his friend.  
  
"Mulder," he began uncertainly, "the disk gave reference to the  
initial successful clone, a woman of high intelligence and   
extravagant beauty, one who would be useful in the future   
to generate clones from her own DNA." Langly once again   
looked about the room, unsure of whether or not to continue.   
Mulder sensed the hesitation in his voice.  
  
"What is it?" he asked.  
  
"It was Lauren, Mulder," he answered, "she was the first successful  
experiment. They fashioned her from the Purity Control and then used  
her intellect to carry out the work."  
  
Mulder felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. "Are   
you sure?" he managed to eek out.  
  
"Positive," Langly answered, "it's all right here. I think   
you should come over and look at the evidence."  
  
Mulder glanced up at the mirror opposite from where he was sitting.   
"I can't do that right now," he said.  
  
"Why not?" Langly asked, "Where are you?"  
  
"I'm bringing down a murderer," he responded, and with a smooth,  
cat-like motion, he was on his feet. He turned around, threw   
his cell on the ground, and faced the Yellow-Haired Man that   
he had viewed in the mirror, lifting his gun directly in front   
of him.  
  
"Stay where you are," Mulder said, "or I swear by all that is holy  
that I will shoot you where you stand."  
  
"What is holy is not a matter for you to decide, Agent Mulder," the  
man answered, "Only God in his awesome glory shall deign who shall be  
worthy." He folded his hands in a pose of peaceful meditation.   
"Blessed are the meek," he said, "for they shall inherit the Kingdom  
of God."  
  
"Don't give me your solemn, prayerful bullshit," he said, "I'm going  
to send you straight to Hell, you murdering son of a bitch."  
  
"One of us shall visit the Dark Realm," he answered, "but it will  
surely be thou." The Yellow-Haired Man began advancing towards him,  
only a few yards away.  
  
"One step closer and I'll shoot," Mulder warned, but the   
Yellow-Haired Man kept proceeding. Mulder pulled back the   
trigger, firing one round, then another, then another, but   
the Yellow-Haired Man continued his advance. He fired off   
six or seven rounds before the Yellow-Haired Man had him   
in his strong grasp. It was only then that Mulder saw the   
gaping holes in his chest, spilling over with a green liquid.   
As he clenched his eyes in pain, the Yellow-Haired Man threw   
him against the wall. Mulder hit his head hard and went down.   
He looked up through his stinging, red eyes at the   
Yellow-Haired Man. As the darkness came, he saw his hair   
change from blonde to black, and then grow long and wavy,   
as Lauren's face appeared above his, like some angelic   
vision. "I'm sorry, Fox," he heard her say, as he drifted   
out of consciousness, "but there was no other way."  
  
Lauren Alvarez Residence  
4077 Pierceford Crossing  
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania  
  
Scully placed the phone against her ear. 'Beep, beep, beep.' "Still  
busy," she said, "shit." She closed the phone to put it back in her  
pocket when it rang unexpectedly.  
  
"Mulder?" she asked hopefully.  
  
"Agent Scully, it's Frohike. We've got a problem." No   
catty remarks, no suggestive comments. She could tell   
that there was something really the matter.  
  
"What is it, Frohike," she asked, "I've been trying to get in contact  
with Mulder but his line's busy."  
  
"I know," Frohike answered, "we were talking to him when the phone  
went dead."  
  
"Talking to him about what?" she asked, "Where is he?" She was  
growing increasingly concerned, and a little impatient, both of which  
showed greatly in her voice.  
  
"Agent Scully," he explained, "last night the boys and I   
helped Mulder sneak into Chimera Genetics. Within one of   
the databases there, we found evidence of Project Saving   
Grace. Mulder copied a diskette of all the information   
and we began going through it this morning. There were   
references to all the deceased victims who were created   
through the project." He looked up at Byers and Langly,   
and continued, "We discovered that those twelve women were   
not the first created through the Project, that there were   
additional experiments conducted, women created who were   
not completely hybridized."  
  
"Let me take a wild stab in the dark," Scully interrupted, looking  
down at the photograph in her hands, "Lauren Alvarez."  
  
Frohike looked puzzled. "How did you know?" he asked her.  
  
"Lucky guess," she answered, "Listen. I want you to go find Mulder  
and tell him everything you know about Lauren Alvarez."  
  
"He already knows," Frohike told her, "We had just finished telling  
him of our findings when we lost contact with him."  
  
"I want you to go look for him, anyway," she said, "I have a terrible  
feeling that something's wrong. I'm going to finish up here,   
and grab a few hair samples for analysis back at Quantico.   
Then, I'm taking the first flight out of Philadelphia. I   
should be back in a couple hours."  
  
She hung up the phone and placed the picture in her pocket. She  
turned towards an officer, saying, "Find me a brush, comb, anything  
with a hair sample, right now. I need to get back to Washington as  
soon as possible."  
  
Washington, D.C.  
Undisclosed Location  
  
Frohike placed the phone back on the receiver.  
  
"Why didn't you tell her about the gunshots, Frohike?" Langly asked.  
  
The concern showed plainly upon his face. "I didn't want to worry  
her," he answered.  
  
"Yes," Byers interjected, "But don't you think she has the right to  
know? I'm sure you would all agree by know that it is best to keep  
Agent Scully apprised of the situation at hand. Besides, you know of  
her feelings for him." He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the  
next, "It's as obvious as the fact that the atomic bomb was dropped,  
not to win the war, but to detract from the falsified death accounts  
of Theodore Roosevelt."  
  
"All the more reason not to make her worry," Frohike said, "Anyway,  
she's four states away. What is she going to be able to do from  
Pennsylvania? Let's just go check out the address of this,   
what's her name, Julia Marie Thomas, ourselves. God knows   
the last thing he needs is to get the feds involved."  
  
Langly and Byers nodded their heads in agreement. They grabbed their  
jackets and walked out the door, being sure to fasten the seven or  
eight locks before they were gone. 


	7. Mulder Goes Missing

Julia Thomas Residence  
696 Massachusetts Ave.  
Washington, D.C.  
2:12 P.M.  
  
Twenty men in blue suits and badges were   
stationed about the room. Some held evidence   
kits in their hands, dusting for fingerprints,  
while others meticulously fingered through   
various documents andbooks. Two men in   
jackets that read "Coroner" on the back   
stood in the corner of the room taking   
photographs of the dead woman. Langly,Byers,   
and Frohike were seated on the couch as Scully   
entered theapartment, weariness draining the   
color from her face. Frohike jumpedto his   
feet as soon as he saw her.  
  
"Agent Scully," he greeted her, "how are you   
feeling?" Concern wasevident through his   
plastered smile of familiarity. "How do you   
think she's doing," he kicked himself, "what   
kind of stupid question is that?"  
  
"Fine, thanks," she answered solemnly, forcing   
a smile to her lips in gratitude for his   
compassion. "How long have you guys been here?"   
  
"We left right after we talked with you," Byers   
informed her, standingup next to Frohike, "we   
found Ms. Thomas' apartment as you now see it  
when we arrived." He gestured to the disarray   
on the carpet and furniture.  
  
"We've been here since then," Langly said, now   
standing, as well. He motioned with his thumb to   
a short, stocky gentleman in the corner of the room   
with a gleaming badge on the lapel of his jacket and   
a notebook in his hand, "Chubby over there held us   
here for questioning. He said we looked 'suspicious'."  
Langly appeared highly offended.   
  
"Can you believe that?" Frohike asked, bearing the   
same astounded impression. Scully smiled sheepishly.   
"Hard to believe," she said dryly. She nodded towards   
the sofa. "Why don't you guys sit down and I'll get  
this all sorted out," she said. They did as she   
commanded and she turned to face the officer in charge.   
He grinned at her as she approached.  
  
"Well, hi there," he said, placing a hand on his hip and leaning  
against a table with the other hand, "what's a lovely lady like you  
doin' in a nasty place like this?"  
  
"Avon calling," Scully said sardonically, pulling the badge from her  
pocket and raising it to the detective's eye level.  
  
He sighed loudly. "So you're from the Bureau, huh?"   
he said, "Who the hell called you all out here?"  
  
She folded her identification and replaced it in her jacket. "I have  
reason to believe that the events which transpired here are connected  
to a series of murders that my partner and I are investigating," she  
said.  
  
"And why isn't your partner here to ask all the important questions?   
Are you sure you'll be able to handle this investigation all by  
yourself?" He continued on after receiving no response but the  
crossed arms and sullen stare of the angry agent. "Anyway, we didn't  
find anyone here, no one except those three jokers over there," he  
said, pointing to the Gunmen.  
  
"Those three are harmless," she told him, "colleagues of mine, and my  
partner's. I believe that he was here, investigating the   
case I spoke of before."  
  
"The only trace of anyone being here at all is that woman   
on the floor and that blood on the wall," he replied.  
  
Scully's heart leapt to her throat as she ruminated over the  
possibilities. Regaining her composure, she looked at him and  
demanded, "I want every piece of evidence to go through my hands, I  
want to see everything. If the body of a male was not found, then  
that means that Agent Mulder is still alive."  
  
"Either that or they carried him off to dump the body."   
  
"He's alive," she said forcefully, as if the strength of her words  
would ensure his safety, "And I'm going to find him."  
  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
5:45 P.M.  
  
Dana Scully greeted Skinner's secretary, Holly, and seated herself in  
one of the waiting chairs outside his office, folding the edge of her  
skirt beneath her. She smoothed out the hem, then crossed her legs  
and folded her hands on her lap.  
  
"The Assistant Director will be with you momentarily," Holly informed  
Scully, who nodded in response and twiddled her thumbs. "What the  
hell am I going to tell him?" she thought to herself, the anxiety  
clearly evident through her uneasy body language,  
  
"That we were unsuccessful in tracking down the murderer   
and now she's not only killed the twelve women that she   
created from cloning experimentation with alien DNA, but   
now she absconded with the Mulder, too?"  
  
Scully glanced at her watch. "Quarter till," she thought   
to herself. She had been following every lead possible   
for the last three hours but every tip had turned up   
another dead end. The A.P.B. proved useless. No one had   
seen or heard from Lauren since noon the previous day, and   
now Mulder was missing, possibly dead. "No," she told   
herself, "you can't think like that, Dana." She drew   
the golden cross at her throat back and forth between her   
fingers, "He needs optimism right now. He would never   
give up on you, you can't give up on him either."  
  
Skinner's voice brought her back into consciousness, "Agent Scully,  
please come in."  
  
Scully awoke sharply from her daydream and glanced up at the man who  
she had come to trust as a friend after nearly seven long years of  
trials by fire. "Yes, sir," she answered, leaping gracefully to her  
feet and walking into his office with the dignity befitting a queen.  
  
"Please have a seat, Agent Scully," he said formally,   
gesturing to the chairs that were situated in front of   
his desk.  
  
"Thank you, sir," she responded in kind. He seated himself in a  
half-lounge, half-professional manner, one leg crossed over the other  
and his arms folded neatly over his lap. He leaned back in   
the chair. His blue eyes sparkled through his wire-frame   
glasses, an odd paradox to the cold, thinly-drawn mouth   
that she had hardly ever seen smile.  
  
"I'm sure you're aware of why I've called you here today, Agent  
Scully," he initiated the conversation. The pleasantries were now  
officially terminated.  
  
"I have my suspicions, sir," she responded, her face bearing no sign  
of any knowledge that would be detrimental if placed "on the record,"  
  
"It has come to my attention that Mulder has been officially deemed  
'missing' as a result of this case that you and he are pursuing."  
  
"That is correct, sir," she replied, adding, "but I am working in  
conjunction with the Bureau and local authorities in an attempt to  
find him. There is an A.P.B. out on the woman who I strongly suspect  
to be his abductor. Within a few short hours, I will have scientific  
proof that I believe will connect her genetically to the victims that  
she has murdered."  
  
"You mean you found her blood at the crime scenes?" he asked.  
  
"No, sir," she said unfalteringly, "there were no samples collected  
from the scenes other than that of the victims'. However, we were  
able to confiscate a hair sample from the suspect's home, and another  
blonde hair from the latest crime scene. I believe it could lead us  
to her and her accomplice."  
  
"And what are you comparing the strands to in order to gather your  
'genetic connection?'"  
  
Scully hesitated briefly, biting her lower lip. She pondered whether  
or not she should answer the question truthfully before   
she had all of the lab results back. Why make claims   
that could turn out to be unfounded?  
  
"Agent Scully?" Skinner questioned, the corners of his   
eyes drawing up into a look of suspicious curiosity,   
"Is there something else you're not telling me?"  
  
"No, sir," she answered quickly and seemingly forthright, "of course  
not."  
  
"And you will let me know the instant that the   
results are confirmed?"  
  
"Yes, sir," she said stoically.   
  
"Good," he replied, "then I suggest that you expend the rest of your  
efforts on tracking down your partner."  
  
"Thank you, sir," she stated more for formality's   
sake rather than due to the fact that he had been   
entirely helpful. She rose from the chair and walked   
towards the door. Her hand was on the knob as he  
called to her, "Agent Scully?"  
  
She looked back. "Yes, sir?" she asked.  
  
He swiveled towards her in his chair, leaning forward with both feet  
on the ground. His body language conveyed the serious nature of what  
he was saying. "I don't want you to worry. I will put every  
available man on the streets. You have the Bureau's full resources.   
We will find him."  
  
"I know, sir," she said, sounding very tired, "thank you."   
She smiled as best she could, but it was obvious that her   
heart was not in it. She would not feel the tremendous   
weight lifted from her soul until he was back, safe and   
sound, and throwing pencils into the ceiling. She opened   
the door and closed it behind her, leaving Skinner alone   
feeling the twin agonies of anxiety for him and compassion for her.  
  
"You better get your ass back here, Mulder," he said aloud, worry  
apparent on his weathered features. He leaned back in the chair and  
gazed toward the door after Scully. "Good luck, Dana," he said, "I  
hope to God that you find him in time."  
  
Quantico Medical Facility  
8:29 P.M.  
  
"There's still no sign of him? Well, she couldn't have   
very well walked out of there with a body without anyone   
seeing! They can't be far. I know the witness said that   
it was a man with blonde hair, but I'm sure that the woman   
fitting the description I gave you is the brains behind the   
operation. I want every building within a five mile   
radius searched tooth and comb. I want him found   
alive. Call me if there are any new developments."   
Scully closed her phone and placed it in her jacket   
as Dr. Sykes approached her, still wearing her   
safety goggles.  
  
"The results are in," Dr. Sykes informed her, holding up the  
transparent P.C.R. that was in her hand and pulling the   
goggles on top of her head with the other.  
  
"What's the verdict?" Scully asked, as Sykes stepped next to her to  
show her the results.  
  
"This was taken from the strand of hair that was found in  
Philadelphia," she said, holding the results in her left hand to the  
light so that Scully could see more clearly, "and this was taken from  
the sample that you gave me from Ms. Thomas' apartment."  
  
"They're identical," Scully said matter-of-factly.  
  
"You don't seem too astounded, Agent Scully," Sykes told her, "I, on  
the other hand, am a little taken aback. I was under the impression  
that the person believed to be the owner of the blonde strand was a  
male accomplice."  
  
"He was."  
  
She arched her eyebrows and shot Scully a look of   
incomprehensibility, "But the sample that you took   
in Philadelphia was from Maria's home, was it not?"  
  
"It was."  
  
"So what are you suggesting, Agent Scully?" she asked, "How do you  
account for the fact that a man and a woman have the exact genetic  
composition?"  
  
Scully put a hand to her hip as she contemplated the medical training  
that had taught her that such an occurrence was possible.   
"Well," she said, craning her neck to one side, "I suppose   
that the most likely explanation is that the Yellow-Haired   
Man and the woman you know as Maria are identical twins.   
Perhaps he is working in conjunction with his sister to   
carry out the murders of the women that she created."  
  
"Agent Scully, they do not exactly contain the similarity of  
appearance inherent in family members, let alone that found in  
identical twins."  
  
"Well, that could be determined by running some more   
tests," she said, "Besides, there are other possibilities,   
as well. Maybe the body-snatcher was invited into Maria's   
home, exposing his hair and DNA to that which was   
obtained."  
  
Dr. Sykes looked extremely doubtful. "There's another possibility,"  
she said softly, eyes looking downward.  
  
"What is that?" Scully asked through questioning eyes, wondering if,  
once again, Sykes knew more than what she was telling.  
  
"I happened upon something while going over these latest   
results," she began, "I placed the transparencies down   
on my desk, which had the files pertaining to the murder   
victims of the Project strewn about. It was then that I   
noticed the similarity." She looked at Scully, unsure   
of whether or not the notoriously skeptical agent would   
even listen to her admittedly obscure hypothesis.  
  
"What similarity, Agent Sykes?" Scully prodded.  
  
"The genetic similarity between Maria and the clones," she said  
quickly, brushing her hair back behind her ear, "Although Maria's DNA  
is not identical to that of the Twelve, it is somewhat comparable, a  
quarter, to be exact."  
  
"What are you saying?" Scully asked.  
  
"I'm saying that Maria is three-quarters Purity Control and  
one-quarter human, and that this genetic mixture gives her  
capabilities altogether different from regular human beings, healing  
capabilities, immunity to diseases and bullets," she permitted a  
lengthy pause to ensue before she completed the thought, "the ability  
to change physical appearance at will."  
  
Scully appeared incredulous. "Dr. Sykes," she said, voice full of  
professional distaste, "I believe that I do not have inform   
you of the corporeal impossibilities of what you have just   
said."  
  
"It would account for the fact that the body-snatcher had easy access  
into the building. Maria worked here for a period of time.   
She would know her way through these halls like the back of   
her hand. She could easily phone you from down the hall,   
take the body, and make off with it before you even   
realized that it was gone."  
  
Scully scoffed loudly.  
  
"It would also explain how a sample taken from Washington, D.C. would  
match exactly with a sample taken from Maria's home in Philadelphia."  
  
Scully suddenly remembered the reports of the arson incidents at  
Chimera. She had initially believed that Lauren was   
responsible, that she was attempting to do away with   
the bodies that she had created out of some feelings   
of guilt or a desire to do right. "What if it's   
true?" she thought, eyeing the woman before her   
uneasily. What if Sykes was right and the   
Yellow-Haired Man was Lauren? Mulder had believed   
that the Yellow-Haired Man had morphed into the   
Black-Haired Man at Quantico. What if Lauren was   
also another product of this morphing capability,   
a sort of multiple personalities present in one  
physical body?  
  
She shrugged herself away from her reverie. "What are you thinking,  
Dana?" she thought, "You know that this is an absurd notion."  
  
"Thank you for your input," she said to Sykes, "and for your speedy  
examination of the hair samples, but now I need to go find my partner  
before the Morphing Ms. Maria destroys him before I can reach him."   
She turned on her heels and departed before Sykes could convince her  
of the truth in her words.  
  
Dana Scully Residence  
8:49 P.M.  
  
Fox Mulder awoke groggily from his forcibly-imposed unconsciousness.   
The first thing he became aware of after coming-to was not the odd  
position in which he was situated, but instead the painfully present  
throbbing that traveled from the back of his head all the way to the  
top of his eyebrows. He cringed in absolute pain as he attempted to  
open his eyes and adjust them to the darkness of the room. He opened  
them slowly, seeing, at first, only the floor through his half-closed  
eyelids. He shut them quickly after a sudden flash of burning ache  
shot across his forehead. After a minute, he had the   
presence of mind to have another go at it. His eyelids   
fluttered once, and again, as the black and gray objects   
in front of him began to take form, a comfortable,   
lightly-colored couch, an elegant-looking lamp, a   
familiar kitchen. It hit him like a bolt of lightning:   
he was in Scully's home.  
  
"Scully," he said aloud with apprehension in his voice. He wondered  
where she was, if Lauren had gotten to her yet. He looked left and  
right, all about for her, but she was not there. In his mind's eye,  
though, he could see her as clearly as if she were standing right in  
front of him. Experiencing a momentary stream-of-consciousness, he  
saw her seated on the bed next to him. He was bearing his soul, and  
she reached out to him, like he always knew she would, placing her  
tiny, soft, milky hand over his. He had been surprised then by the  
strength that seemed to emanate from her, but now he knew the   
power of which she was capable.  
  
Thinking of her face now seemed to give him strength and in a moment  
of extreme clarity, he saw fully for the first time the danger to  
which he was exposed. As he lifted his head from the floor,   
he became aware that his previous leaning condition was due   
to the fact that his hands were tied to some sort of wooden   
shelf against the wall. His arms were spread wide and his   
feet were tied together. The rope which bound them hung   
tightly about his ankles and was fastened to the wall with   
a single nail. His body shook violently as he tried to free  
himself from his constraints.  
  
"Stop your struggling," a male voice called from the other   
side of the room, "It won't do you any good." Mulder   
attempted to fix his eyes on the figure as he approached,   
closer and closer, step by step. He squinted as the figure   
stepped into the sliver of moonlight that was projecting   
from the eastern window. It was the Black-Haired Man from  
the surveillance photos.  
  
"I guess now wouldn't be the best time to read you your Miranda  
rights, would it?" Mulder quipped.  
  
"The Day of Reckoning is at hand, Agent Mulder," the Black-Haired Man  
told him, "You have been judged."  
  
"Okay," Mulder said, "I admit it. I was the one who tore   
the tags off of those pillows, but I had every intention   
of putting them back."  
  
"You have been judged," the Black-Haired Man said again,   
"and you have been found guilty."  
  
"Well then, would you mind telling me what crime I committed?" he  
asked.  
  
"Murder, Agent Mulder," the man answered stoically, "murder."  
  
"That's horseshit," Mulder replied angrily, "I didn't kill anyone."   
He glanced at the binding about his arms and feet and then glanced  
into the face of the Black-Haired Man. "Well, not yet anyway," he  
said.  
  
"You have been found responsible for the murders of many men, Agent  
Mulder. The one you called 'Deep Throat.' It was your hand that  
brought about the premature death of one that would have been able to  
stop it all before it starts."  
  
Mulder felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He looked  
once more at the floor. The death of the informant, rather,   
the man, who had come to play such a fatherly role in his   
life had always played heavily upon his conscience. It was   
his youthful impetuosity that got him captured in the first   
place, which resulted in the ultimate of sacrifices: Deep   
Throat's life for his.  
  
"Before what starts?" he asked angrily, "Why are you doing this?"   
When he looked back up, he was staring into the face of the  
Yellow-Haired Man.  
  
"There were others, were there not?" he asked Mulder, more of a  
statement than a question.  
  
"You know, this whole 'This Is Your Life' scenario is all nice and  
good fun, but why don't you shut the hell up and answer some of my  
questions for a change?" Venom filled every word.  
  
The Yellow-Haired Man continued, "Your tireless quest to find 'The  
Truth' got your partner's sister killed, did it not? Not to mention  
the fates of your father and the infamous 'Mr. X', too."  
  
"Why don't you untie these ropes and I'll add another to the list."  
  
"And then there's the matter of your sister," he said, "You were  
unable to save her when you were a child for the pure fear of facing  
the same harm. And then as an adult, you could not find her in time,  
to save her from the tests, and ultimately from her mercy-killing.   
That death, too, is on your hands, Agent Mulder."  
  
Mulder watched as the Yellow-Haired Man changed shape into the woman  
he thought he knew so well so long ago. "I'm sorry, Fox," she said,  
"but you have been found guilty. There's nothing that anyone can do  
about it now, not even me."  
  
"Lauren," he said, his voice full of emotion, "You can't do this. I  
know you won't let them hurt me. It's not in you." His face  
contorted, his inner pain reflected by his outer features.  
  
"I can't stop them, Fox," she said, sounding truly sorrowful, "He has  
decided. I must follow through with His orders."  
  
"Whose orders?" he demanded.  
  
"The Father's," she answered, "the one you know as the man with the  
black hair. He is the Creator, and the ultimate judge to whom we all  
must answer. It was through my spirit that He was able to   
fashion the Twelve. It was His inspiration in my lowly   
hands."  
  
"What kind of Creator would desire to destroy the product of His  
work?" Mulder questioned.  
  
"When mankind desires to place himself above the Father, He must  
strike them down, lest they destroy His vision for the world."  
  
"So that is the point of all this, then?" Mulder asked her, "A modern  
day Sodom and Gamorrah? He will destroy them before they destroy His  
vision? Where is the free will in choosing man's destiny for him?"  
  
"Some must be sacrificed to save the fate of the whole,"   
she answered, "The Twelve were initially meant to be the   
Noah of the New Order. They would survive the coming   
flood and live to usher in a new world of peace and   
prosperity. Humanity would not just live on, but thrive.  
Yet, the Father, in His infinite wisdom, decreed that man   
must not be tampered with, that he must live as he is. If   
he survives the onslaught, he was meant to live on. If not,   
then he shall languish forever in eternal life. Therefore,   
the Twelve had to be destroyed and the Son, who carries out   
the desires of the Father, removed the mistakes that my   
science created."  
  
"So then, as the Holy Spirit, it was your job to carry out the  
creation that the father was unable of performing himself?"  
  
Lauren nodded her head in agreement.  
  
Mulder arched his eyebrows and smirked thinly through his despair.   
"Do you honestly believe all that theological bullshit you just  
espoused?" he asked.  
  
"That was always your problem, Fox," she said, returning the same sad  
smile, "You never could believe in anything greater than the  
extraterrestrial. How do you think our life began? With the Big  
Bang? There are some things for which science cannot mandate." Her  
smile turned into a frown as she informed him, "Your lack of faith is  
your undoing." She leaned in towards him and kissed him   
gently on the cheek.  
  
"Would you betray me with a kiss, Judas?" he asked, her lips still  
fresh on his face.  
  
Her face backed away from his, inch by inch. Her dark   
eyes penetrated his. It was as though she was attempting   
to catch a final glimpse of his soul before he departed   
from the Earth. "Don't be afraid, Fox," she said finally,   
"Your death will usher in the Second Coming. The Kingdom   
of God will reign free on Earth. Your sacrifice will never   
be forgotten."  
  
9:02 P.M.  
  
Scully watched as the brown doors opened, revealing a   
single passenger in an overtly neat pinstripe suit and   
carrying a leather brief case. She walked in, turned   
around, and pushed the button for the appropriate floor.   
She stepped away from the doors and settled herself in   
the left corner of the elevator, grossly aware of the   
unabashed eyes that followed her from her hair to her   
legs, and back up again.  
  
As the doors opened, she instructed him rather abruptly to "Take a  
picture." The doors closed again on the man with the pinstripes,  
whose frown, which betrayed the guilt of a caught man, was evident  
even though his gaze was fixed to the floor.  
  
Scully grabbed the ring in her pocket and fumbled for her apartment  
key as she advanced through the dimly-lit hallway. She thumbed  
sorrowfully past the one that read "Mulder" with marker on taped-on  
white paper. Her tired eyes contained a sadness reserved for those  
occasions when their separation generated the consequential period of  
anxiety until their inevitable reunion. She speculated if this time  
it would be different. The possibilities had played in her mind all  
day - while she was in Skinner's office, while she listened to Dr.  
Sykes, and on the road home when the radio deejay served as her only  
companion. She wondered if he was safe, if he was still alive. "He  
has to be," she thought, "I can feel his presence. He feels so near  
to me. He can't be dead, not before I get to tell him how I really  
feel."  
  
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice the  
small scratches on the door lock, evidence of forced entry. She  
applied the key to her lock, the force of which was great enough to  
open the door seemingly of its own will, as if she were   
being beckoned into a childhood haunted house. Sensing   
the danger beyond the doorway, Scully moved her coat   
deftly with one hand and grabbed for the gun at her hip.   
She pointed it skyward with the right hand as she slowly   
opened the door the rest of the way with her left. She   
placed her left hand on the gun, straightened it in front   
of her, and proceeded into her home.  
  
She walked straight into her living room, caution guiding her every  
movement. Seeing no one, she turned to the left towards the hall to  
her bedroom and advanced. Through the moonlight pervading   
in from the window, Scully noticed the dark figure of   
someone spread-eagle against the wall.  
  
"Federal Agent," she yelled, "stay where you are." She walked closer  
and closer, and the shape began to take form. The first thing she  
noticed was the height, followed by the broad shoulders, and lanky  
form. Next, his dark hair, and the familiar outline of his  
silhouette. It was him.  
  
"Mulder," she cried, placing the gun back in its holster and rushing  
hurriedly to his side, "You're alive!" She noticed   
for the first time the gag in his mouth, and proceeded   
to remove it. As she worked with the bonds in the back   
of the gag, she saw a look of fear roll over his beautiful   
eyes. Grabbing once more for her gun, she turned just in   
time to see a man with blonde hair come upon her with a   
look of rage in his eyes and a large object raised above   
his head. The object came down quickly, glimmering in the   
light of the moon. She barely felt the intense pain on the   
base of her head before she crumpled into a massive heap on   
the floor. The last thing she saw before the darkness took   
her was the face of Mulder, ever present in her mind and in   
her heart.  
  
  
  
"Scully, are you okay? Can you hear me? Dana, it's me, please wake  
up." The sound of his voice stirred her into consciousness.  
  
"Ow," she whined in response, followed by a series of   
lethargic moans. She instinctively grabbed for the   
shooting pain in her head, but her arms would not move   
in response to her voluntary commands. She lifted her   
head slowly and gazed towards her arms. They were   
spread about as if she were about to embrace someone,   
tied to the wall in the same manner as Mulder's. She   
turned to the right and looked at Mulder. The concern   
on his face had given way to a broad smile as an  
oddly-placed chuckle rolled off of his body.  
  
"Mulder, what the hell is so funny?" she asked him angrily.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said between bursts of laughter, "but I'm just so  
relieved." The chuckling quieted down as his voice became serious.   
"You were out a long time, you know. You had me worried there for  
awhile."  
  
"My head feels like shit," she said, "It's like someone's playing  
tug-of-war with my brain and center of the rope is   
beginning to fray."  
  
Mulder's face squinched up in disgust. "Thanks for the graphic  
imagery," he replied.  
  
She shot him an angry warning look as he continued, "What were you  
thinking running at me like that, anyway?"  
  
"I was rescuing you," she answered truthfully.  
  
"Good work," he replied.  
  
She ignored the comment. "Mulder, we have to get out of here," she  
said, looking about her once safe home to see if her abuser was still  
present.  
  
"If you have any ideas, Scully, I'm more than willing to hear them  
out."  
  
Scully bit her lip. She didn't say a word. What could they possibly  
do?  
  
"Well, maybe if you use that nail to saw through your ropes, you can  
free your hand and rip that shelf above you off the wall   
and use it to knock the phone from my jacket to call   
someone and get help." She looked at him hopefully.  
  
Mulder returned her gaze with one of dubious cynicism.   
"Who do I look like," he asked, "MacGyver? Maybe for   
my next trick I can create a makeshift gun out of   
paperclips."  
  
If she were able to cross her arms, she would have done so. "You  
know," she said, "that's not helping. Why don't you try coming up  
with an idea to get us out of this mess?"  
  
"You're the brains of the operation, Scully," he replied, "I'm just  
the beauty."  
  
"Neither of you are going anywhere," a deep, throaty baritone  
interrupted the nervous repertoire, "Your services are still  
required."  
  
"What services?" Scully asked the man with the blonde hair angrily,  
"By whose authority do you keep us here?"  
  
Mulder nodded his head towards the ceiling. "The Head Authority,  
Scully," he informed her.  
  
"What are you talking about, Mulder?" she questioned. She was  
honestly confused, having missed out on Lauren's briefing about the  
Trinity's upcoming plans.  
  
Scully's mouth widened in terror and surprise as the man's hair  
changed from blonde to jet-black. "I am the Father,"   
the Black-Haired Man said, "I have found Fox Mulder   
guilty of murder, and you shall share his fate as   
punishment for working in collusion with him."  
  
"Found guilty of murdering whom?" Scully asked, as the man's hair  
changed once more to blonde.  
  
"I am the Son," the Yellow-Haired Man introduced   
himself, "I have come to hasten the coming of the   
Second Kingdom by cleansing the Earth of  
those that would attempt to fight the future."  
  
"What does that have to do with Mulder being accused of murder?"  
Scully asked.  
  
The blonde hair grew longer and changed to black again as Lauren's  
face appeared before her own. "You and Mulder have not only  
contributed to the murders of Deep Throat, Melissa Scully, Mr. X,  
William Mulder, and Samantha Mulder, but your defiance in the face of  
the plans of the Father will generate the murder of free will if you  
continue on your current path."  
  
Scully's eyes hardened into two impenetrable sapphires as she  
practically spit out the words, "And how, exactly, are we capable of  
committing such an act?"  
  
"The future is not predestined, Agent Scully," Lauren told her, "We  
cannot hope to know how we will act when the future becomes present.   
If you expose the Truth you so desperately seek to know, you will  
bring about hopelessness and despair upon the Earth. When They come  
for colonization, there will be no resistance. Unless man discovers  
the Truth for himself, and desires to fight to maintain his right to  
exist, he will roll over and die. That is why you cannot expose the  
Truth. That is why you must pay for your sins, past, present, and  
future."  
  
Scully glared at the woman that she had distrusted from   
the beginning. "That is positively the most ridiculous,   
convoluted assessment of religion to which I have had the   
extreme displeasure of being privy," she fumed, "If there is   
no predestination, as you claim, then how can you possibly   
know for certain how man will react if the Truth is laid at   
his feet? As one who espouses the belief that God created us   
all to choose our own path in life, I am offended by the fact   
that you think that we could generate mass despair if people   
knew the Truth, or that you are willing to destroy the path we   
have carved for ourselves in order to prevent what you fear the   
most. How can you blame us for defending our right to live as   
one of God's creations?"  
  
"The Bible warns of false prophets, Agent Scully," Lauren replied  
curtly, "Your entire existence at the Bureau has been manufactured, a  
carefully thought out plan to perpetuate the lies that They want the  
public to believe. After all you've experienced over the years,   
after the complete absence of proof that has been your fondest,   
yet most elusive of goals, I should think that by now you'd begin   
to at least question whether what you think you know is the most   
complete and inalienable of Truths. What good would it be to   
expose what you've discovered if it turns out to be nothing but   
lies?"  
  
"I came into the X-Files believing that all unexplained phenomena had  
some discernible cause, that everything could be explained by simply  
unearthing the scientific reasoning behind the matter. When my  
religion faltered, my science kept me grounded. I relied on it, and  
my hope for a better life in the next world to dictate what I thought  
was right and true. Now I know the real truth. Man cannot live  
without faith, the faith that Mulder has in his desperate quest for  
what lies behind the unexplained. I have faith in him and his  
beliefs, and others will, too."  
  
The Spirit transformed once more into the Son. His yellow hair shone  
wildly in the moonlight and a hollow deadness collapsed over his  
crazed eyes. "There will be no others," he said softly, slowly  
drawing out each and every word, "You will never again see the light  
of day. You shall pay for the sins committed in the eyes of the  
Father with the most supreme of sacrifices. 'A life for a life!   
Anyone who inflicts an injury on his neighbor shall receive the same  
in return. Limb for limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth'."  
  
The Yellow-Haired Man picked up a silver, cylinder-shaped object from  
a nearby table. Pushing a button on the side, a deathly "swoosh"  
filled the silent room as a thin, sharp blade appeared from the  
center. His eyes gleamed in the darkness as he advanced towards the  
two partners, "Limb for limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth. Limb for  
limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth."  
  
Scully's cerulean eyes widened in fear. He came closer   
and closer, his footsteps thumping softly on the off-white   
carpet. He carried the weapon in his right hand, which was   
raised with a menacing intent. He advanced towards Scully,   
the glistening point shone deadly in the moonlight.  
  
"Take me," Mulder yelled unexpectedly, "I'm the one you want, I'm the  
murderer, take me!"  
  
"Limb for limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth."   
  
"Take me, you fucking bastard! She has nothing to do with this! I'm  
the reason that she got mixed up in all of this, take me!"  
  
"Limb for limb, eye for eye, tooth for tooth."   
  
"Answer me you sadistic piece of half-bred alien shit!"   
  
The Yellow-Haired Man turned towards Mulder. "You shall both die," he  
said, smiling coldly, "But I'll grant your request. You shall be the  
first to be reunited with the Father."  
  
Scully's blood turned cold. "Please, don't," she cried, "don't do it,  
I can't lose him!"  
  
The Yellow-Haired Man placed his left hand on the weapon,   
interlocking it over his right. He raised the weapon above   
his head.  
  
"By the sweat of your face shall you get bread to eat, Until you  
return to the ground, from which you were taken; For you are   
dirt, and to dirt you shall return..."  
  
Scully screamed as he lunged at Mulder.   
  
"No, Mulder!"   
  
Scully watched helplessly as the weapon began its descent. Mulder  
closed his eyes tightly as he prepared to make his peace with the  
world. It was as though time had stopped short altogether. He  
cherished his final seconds with Scully, but wished desperately for  
the end, so that his reunion with her in the next life might be  
hastened.  
  
It was strange feeling. He felt no pain, and the seconds ticked away  
slowly, slowly, as if each minute was drawn out into the span of a  
century.  
  
And then it came. He felt the sharp, searing pain, but it   
was somehow different than what he had imagined. He let out   
a cry of anguish, and he felt his eyes roll back into his head.   
What was it that was so strange? It was not registering. All   
that he felt was the pain running through his head, down to his   
chest, and through his arm. He could not concentrate, to think   
clearly enough to reason out the problem.  
  
He gazed up through his half-closed eyelids, expecting to see the  
Yellow-Haired Man glowering over him with the contented expression of  
a fresh kill gleaming in his eyes. The shapes fuzzed over, became  
clear, and became fuzzy once again. He narrowed his lids and focused  
his eyes through the throbbing in his arm. It was the Son's crazed  
visage into which he was staring, but there was something different.   
He couldn't figure it out. What was different? He concentrated  
again. This time he understood. It was the eyes. It wasn't the  
crazed, blue eyes of a madman into which he was looking, but the   
soft, warm, chocolate eyes of the woman he once loved.  
  
The Yellow-Haired Man's face was distorted in anguish and confusion.   
"What are you doing?" he asked aloud, "You're going to ruin  
everything!"  
  
His face changed over into that of Lauren's. "I won't let you," she  
said, "I can't let you do this. I love him, I won't let you hurt  
him." Her left hand grasped her right wrist fervently, pulling the  
weapon back from Mulder as much as possible.  
  
Mulder was once again staring into the face of the Yellow-Haired   
Man. "You can't stop me," the Son said, pushing with all his might   
against the inner force holding him back, "We won't be defeated."  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder noticed Scully struggling with  
her binds. She glanced at him.  
  
"Are you okay, Mulder?" she asked, wondering how much longer the  
mental battle within the Trinity would rage.  
  
He looked at the source of his pain. His arm was bleeding profusely,  
but he had no other injuries. He nodded his head in assent.  
  
"She stopped him," Scully explained to the best of her ability, still  
tugging at the ropes, "He tried to get your neck, but then he pulled  
back at the last moment and struck your arm."  
  
"We can play catch-up later, Scully," he told her, gesturing towards  
the binding, "For now, how's it going with those ropes?"  
  
"I think I can, yes, if I can just." She wriggled beneath   
the knot as the Yellow-Haired Man approached her.  
  
"No you don't," he said, "You're not getting away that easily." But  
once again, some internal force pulled him back against his will.  
  
Mulder shot her an anxious look. "Clock's ticking," he informed her.  
  
"Thanks," she answered wryly as the ropes on her left hand  
simultaneously frayed and gave way. "There!" she said exuberantly.   
She glanced over at him. "Couldn't have done it without you," she  
told him, reaching to untie the ropes on her right.  
  
"How'd you do it, Scully?" he asked amazed as she continued to work  
away.  
  
"Oh, I just sawed through the ropes with the rusty nail that was  
holding them," she answered, "Remember, my plan from before that you  
thought was destined to fail?"  
  
Her right hand was now free and she bent down to work at the ropes on  
her feet.  
  
"You can gloat later," he said, "Just get me the hell out of these  
things." He shook his hands violently through the ropes.  
  
She pulled her legs free from the constraints and gave a quick   
look in Lauren's direction. She and the Yellow-Haired Man were   
still battling it out. She debated whether she should attempt   
to disarm Lauren or free Mulder first. She ultimately decided   
upon Mulder.  
  
She ran towards him, keeping a careful eye on their assailant.   
As she worked on his ropes, she informed him, "They took my gun."  
  
"It won't do any good anyway," he replied, "I tried shooting them  
already. Nothing doing. The only thing that will stop them is a jab  
to the back of the neck. Somehow, we've got to get that weapon   
out of her hands."  
  
"That won't be necessary," a throaty voice answered. Mulder, still  
tied up, looked towards the direction from which the voice had come.   
Lauren was gazing back at him, a sad look in her eye. "It's okay,  
Fox," she told him, "I'm in full control, now." It was true. The  
struggling had ceased and it appeared that all traces of the  
Yellow-Haired Man were gone. 


	8. Resurrection

"I'm sorry, Fox," she told him before he could get   
a word in edgewise, "I'm so sorry. I never should   
have agreed to a pawn in their game of human   
preservation. I never should have allowed Him to   
kill the Twelve, or to try and kill you." She   
walked towards him.   
  
Scully glanced quickly around the room. She picked   
up the vase that had been a gift from her sister   
on the day she moved to D.C.. Melissa had said that   
it had some sort of holistic value, that the   
earthenware had been obtained from a center of   
peacefulness under the astronomical sign of her birth.   
It was to bring her the serenity and security of her   
home. "Stay where you are," Scully warned her, "or   
I will be forced to take aggressive action."   
  
Lauren continued walking towards her. "I did try to   
stop it, Fox," she told him, "Before I met you, and   
you changed my life, I realized that I was the only   
one who could stop them from taking over, so I tried   
to destroy the creations of my own making by burning   
them and all the technology that birthed them to the   
ground. But they survived the ashes, survived to   
carry out their mission: to produce offspring capable   
of living through the onslaught. But he knew I was   
responsible, so I had to leave Washington, to become   
another person with another profession, to become   
anonymous in order to survive."   
  
"Stop right there, or I swear to God that I'll   
kill you."   
  
Mulder, still tied to the wall, gazed into Lauren's   
eyes, searching for the soul of the person that he   
once knew. "Who found out about you, Lauren? Who   
was the one behind this madness that spawned you?"   
  
She smiled fondly. "The Chimney-Man," she said,   
"the man who raised me after I was created. He may   
not be my father genetically, but he loved me like   
no other."   
  
"Dick van Dyke was your father?" Scully asked   
sardonically.   
  
Lauren glared at her. "Of course not," she seethed,   
"The Chimney-Man was my pet name for him because   
he smoked so much."   
  
Scully's mouth dropped in surprise as she looked   
at Mulder. He nodded in acceptance. Nothing   
surprised him anymore.   
  
"You can put that down," Lauren said, turning her   
attention to Scully, "I'm not going to hurt Fox.   
And even if I did, a little vase wouldn't stop me."   
  
"If you want me to trust you, why don't you tell   
me where my gun is?"   
  
"It's on the kitchen table."   
  
"You're coming with me," Scully commanded, "Walk   
in front of me."   
  
Lauren complied, although she saw no reason to go   
about obtaining a weapon that was entirely useless   
against her. Lauren took her position in front of   
Scully and walked slowly into the next room. There   
was a look of extreme displeasure on her face. As   
the passed through the doorway, Scully could see   
her firearm lying on the table, right where Lauren   
said it would be.   
  
"Sit down, on your hands," Scully told her, and   
Lauren did as she so politely asked. Scully placed   
the vase on the table, grabbed quickly for the gun,   
and kept it raised at Lauren's head. She slipped off   
the safety and patted her down with the other hand.   
She felt a hard object in her pocket and picking it   
up, she discovered the cold, metallic stiletto   
weapon with which Lauren had threatened Mulder.   
Pushing the button on the side, Scully discovered   
that the point was still wet with blood. "I don't   
care what Mulder thinks about her," she decided,   
"She's still a murderer." Scully gestured with her   
head towards the doorway. "You first," she said.   
  
Lauren walked out of the kitchen, followed by a   
menacing-looking Scully with a gun in one hand and   
the stiletto in the other. "Put your hands in the   
air," Scully said, "Slowly."   
  
As Lauren lifted her hands, her black hair   
shortened and her pretty, thin features became   
thick and strong. The Black-Haired Man turned   
around quickly, arms flailing out towards Scully.   
  
From the other room, Mulder gasped as he heard   
three rounds fired and the ensuing sounds of a   
scuffle. He heard someone drop to the floor,   
sounding like a pile of bricks against the muffling   
softness of the carpet.   
  
"Scully!" he cried, "Scully, are you okay?"   
  
He watched in dismay as the Black-Haired Man emerged   
from the other room. "Your partner is dead," he said,   
his voice hissing like a venomous snake, "And you   
will soon join her."   
  
"You bastard!" he spit the words out like a bad taste   
in his mouth, "What the hell did you do to her?"   
  
"I only did what was needed to be done," the Black-  
Haired Man replied, "It is written that one shall   
die at His left, one shall die at His right, and He   
will pass with them. After the third day, He will   
rise again, bringing redemption to the world and the   
ascension of all souls on the Second Coming."   
  
"What the fuck does that have to do with us?" Mulder   
asked.  
  
"This is Golgotha, Agent Mulder."   
  
"The place of the skulls?" Mulder said, "Isn't   
that a little facetious for the Son of Man?"   
  
The Black-Haired Man advanced towards him. He was   
now directly in front of Mulder, face-to-face with   
the enemy. "You know, she asked to sit on my side   
in Heaven before I took her," he said, only inches   
away.   
  
He thought of Scully, how if there was a God then   
there was nobody more worthy than she to be seated   
at His right hand. "Yeah?" Mulder replied, "Well   
you can see me in Hell." With those words, he   
summoned up all his disdain and spit on his forehead.   
  
The Black-Haired Man wiped the spit of his brow,   
planted his feet, and punched Mulder squarely in the   
jaw. The force sent his head careening against the   
wall. After carefully moving his jaw about to see if   
it was broken, Mulder glanced back up at the Father.   
He stared at him, eyes hardened and challenging.   
After a minute, he positioned his head to the other   
side.   
  
"What are you doing?" the Black-Haired Man asked.   
  
"I'm turning the other cheek," he said, "Isn't that   
what your Son instructed?"   
  
"Yes," he said, pulling the stiletto from his pocket,   
"but He was just following my orders, and one must   
always honor his father and his mother."   
  
Mulder watched the weapon rise high above him and for   
the second time that night he prepared to meet his   
end. But this time, he faced the future with open eyes.   
He was not afraid to go. If his life was over, then at   
the very least it would be ended in fulfillment of his   
mission, to find out the truth behind the disappearance   
of Samantha. So many had died so that he could find the   
answer to those questions he sought. Both of his parents   
were gone, so was Samantha. And now Scully. She wasn't   
part of his immediate family. She held no genetic ties   
to him, no blood relations. But none of that mattered,   
because their relationship transcended familial bonds.   
She was his stability, his security, his humanity,   
and now that she was gone.   
  
"You can kill me now and it won't matter," Mulder told   
him, a peacefulness coming upon him that he hadn't felt   
for seven long years, "Too many others know the truth,   
even if it is only bits and pieces. You've been too   
messy, made too many mistakes. They will figure it out.   
It's only a matter of time."   
  
"There's nothing to figure out, Agent Mulder. Your   
demise will ensure the events of the future.   
Colonization will come and there will be no one alive   
that shall tamper with fate. If survival comes, it will   
not be at the price of the degeneration of the human   
species."   
  
"Only the people who are in a position to tamper with   
fate desire that," Mulder said, "you know, like the   
Smoking Man that created you? Regular humans like me   
and, well, like me don't want to become like you. But   
they should be allowed to have the information that   
you have, to prepare for the future by taking means   
alternative to those imposed by the people behind   
Chimera."   
  
"I do not wish it."   
  
"So what," Mulder responded, feeling the anger rise   
once more within him, "you just let them all die,   
like you let Scully die? To what ends? To preserve   
humanity, even if it means Armageddon?"   
  
"You are a chosen people, Agent Mulder, we must   
keep you pure."   
  
"At any cost?"   
  
"At any cost," he stated definitively as the stiletto   
came down, aimed to pierce Mulder's heart.   
  
Without warning, the Black-Haired Man's knees buckled   
beneath him. Mulder watched with a mixture of awe and   
relief as the Father fell to the floor next to a   
bedraggled-looking Scully. Her white blouse was soaked   
with blood, a victim of multiple stabbings, evidenced   
by three distinct red, circular wounds. Her hair was   
tousled, her skirt ripped, and burgeoning bruises on   
her face indicated physical assault.   
  
"Scully!" he cried out to her, unable to describe his   
elation in any other words at seeing her alive. She   
had managed to crawl her way into the room undetected,   
being completely incapable of standing on her feet   
due to her injuries. With a quick blow to the back of   
the knees, she was able to knock her assailant to the   
floor. Unfortunately, she knew the advantage her   
surprise attack had given her would not hold out long   
against her strong opponent.   
  
"Scully!" he called out to her again, this time in   
fear that the Father would dispense of her right   
before his eyes. "Get the weapon, Scully," he   
encouraged her, "Get the weapon. The back of his   
neck!"   
  
Feeling the sudden burst of adrenaline cascading   
through her veins, she wrestled furiously with him for   
the sharp stiletto. She could not let him win, risk   
letting him take Mulder away from her again. She   
grasped his clenched hands in hers, pulling at the   
weapon. The two rolled over each other, banging into   
the coffee table and sending the porcelain lamp   
careening to the floor. He was on top of her now. He   
turned the stiletto towards her and prepared to make   
his final cut.   
  
"This time you're going to die for real," he seethed,   
as the stiletto inched closer and closer. She threw   
her hands in front of her as the weapon descended.   
Creating a shield for her body, she pushed his hands   
away with hers, but his strength was too much on her   
weakened state. He saw the fear in her eyes as he   
pressed closer and closer towards her neck. Holding   
his hands with her left hand, she reached out with her   
right and felt for the broken lamp shards on her carpet.   
Finding one, she grasped it tightly and struck it sharp   
edge across the face of the Father. He dropped the   
stiletto on the floor as his hands reached up to cup   
the newly-formed scratch in agony. Scully watched   
horrified as he removed his hands and a green liquid   
oozed to the floor.   
  
"Scully, his neck!" Mulder screamed.   
  
"Uhh," she moaned as the unbearable burning sensation   
began to collect in her eyes, like the burning juice   
of an onion that will never wash away. Summoning her   
last bit of living energy, she grabbed the stiletto   
and got to her knees. Inching her way behind him, she   
held her left hand over her eyes and jabbed with the   
right, praying to God that the blow would strike true.   
  
She glanced up at her partner. "Mulder," she breathed   
with her final breath as she collapsed on her side,   
her blood staining the pristine carpet.   
  
He looked at the stiletto that was still hanging out   
of the base of the neck of the Father. He watched as   
the Black-Haired Man was transformed into the face   
of Lauren. Her face was contorted in pain as she   
whispered, "Fox," as though she was frightened of   
what her future portended. She fell forward and her   
body instantly began its disintegration into a   
green goo. He turned his attention back to his savior.   
  
"Scully!" he cried, "Scully, wake up!"   
  
Somewhere, deep in her subconscious, she thought she   
heard him call her name, beckoning her back. She felt   
completely at peace, though she wondered from where he   
was calling her. She let the light envelope her as all   
thoughts went blank.   
  
St. Catherine's Hospital   
Three Days Later   
4:32 P.M.   
  
The light which seemed to emanate from every direction   
was gradually becoming more and more concentrated into   
one distinct object. It appeared that the light was   
sucked into the center of the great white place as   
Scully's eyes began to focus more intently on the area   
around her. She began to make out the rough edges of a   
wall, no, it was a ceiling, and the light was pouring out   
of a rectangular fixture situated in the center. She   
closed her eyes and opened them up halfway. They still   
burned and she was aware of an immense throbbing in her   
forehead. She blinked them a couple of times, clenched   
her teeth, and opened them wide in an effort to   
determine her surroundings. It was useless. She   
couldn't make out anything beyond the light.   
  
"It's okay, Dana," she heard her mother's voice at her   
side, "it's okay. You're in the hospital. You're just   
fine now, close your eyes."   
  
Scully did as her mother commanded, following her orders   
as though she was still five years old. She gradually   
became aware of the fact that she was lying on an   
uncomfortable hospital bed, wearing only a flimsy sheet   
of what passed for patient garb.   
  
"Mom?" she asked, "what happened?"   
  
She felt her mother's soothing hand brush her hair   
against her head, starting at her aching forehead and   
working towards the back. "You were found at your   
apartment," she told her carefully, "you and Fox both."   
  
"Mulder!" she cried, remembering in a flash the events   
of that terrible night. She remembered the Black-Haired   
Man beating her to the floor and stabbing her with the   
stiletto. She remembered touching her wounds with the   
tips of her fingers and seeing the large amounts of   
fresh, red blood that gushed from her body. She   
remembered passing out into unconsciousness as he bent   
down to see if she was dead. She remembered waking up   
to the sound of Mulder's soothing voice, of forcing   
herself to make her way into her living room in order   
to save his life as her own strength waned with every   
passing minute. She tried to sit up but her mother   
held her back.   
  
"No, Dana," Maggie said sternly, "lay back down. Fox   
is fine. They found him tied up, calling for help,   
after the sound of gunshots alerted your neighbors to  
an intruder." Scully couldn't see her mother's grim   
expression. "Thank God you're okay, Dana," she blurted   
out, "You're my only daughter left." She felt her   
mother's hands drift down to her shoulders as her grip   
suddenly got much tighter, erupting into a healthy   
embrace.   
  
"I know, Mom," she said, returning the hug, "I know."   
  
After about a minute, Scully heard the sounds of two   
light raps at the door, followed by the sound of its   
squeaky hinges as it was opened. "Hello," she heard   
a familiar voice say, "Would you like me to come   
back at another time?"   
  
She felt her mother pull away. "Hello, Fox," she   
heard her say, "No, that won't be necessary." Maggie   
kissed her daughter lightly on the cheek and whispered,   
"I love you" in her ear.   
  
"I love you, too, Mom," Scully responded as Maggie   
stood up from the seat where she had spent three   
fretful nights watching diligently over her surviving   
daughter. She walked towards Mulder and clasped his   
large hand in her tiny palms. "I'll give you some time   
alone with her," she told him, a thin smile pervading   
her worried expression.   
  
"Thank you," he answered as she walked out of the room,   
closing the door behind her. He walked slowly towards   
her bed and sat down at her side.   
  
Her hand lay at her side on the poorly-padded bed. He   
reached over and grabbed it, holding her palm in his   
as though he was afraid to let her go. Their fingers   
intertwined and he lightly stroked her hand with his.   
She turned her head to face him though she   
couldn't see past the stinging.   
  
"How are you feeling?" he asked her through an intensely   
affectionate smile. A mixture of concern and elation   
showed at the corners of his eyes.   
  
"Like I was run over by a giant flukeman," she responded,   
returning a weak smile. He chuckled warmly. "Well you   
look amazing," he told her, brushing back her hair   
behind her ear.   
  
"Yeah. And Melvin and I have been having a passionate   
affair."   
  
"Please, Scully," he said with tenderness in his voice,   
"I just ate." He bent over her and looked at her   
longingly. Brushing a wisp of hair away from her face,   
he permitted an awkward silence to pass slowly by as   
he tried to determine his next course of action.   
Caressing her cheek, he confided in her, "I thought I   
had lost you."   
  
"Mulder..." she began, but he interrupted her.   
  
"Shh," he whispered, putting a finger to her lips,   
"It's okay. I know you're afraid of ruining our   
relationship, of pushing our friendship beyond what is   
F.B.I. procedure, but I've got to tell you, I was never   
a stickler for protocol." She smiled broadly as his face   
became serious. "Since our first case together I knew   
that I could give you my complete trust, that I could   
bear my soul to you. That's something I've never been   
able to do before. Since that time, I have developed a   
level of intimacy with you that I have never achieved   
with anyone else. You've shown me a side of myself that   
I never knew existed."   
  
"You always knew it existed, Mulder," she told him,   
"You just never let anyone see it." His voice became   
strong, almost insistent. "Scully, when he told me you   
were dead, I didn't care about living anymore. What is   
life but sharing experiences with someone you care   
deeply about? If I couldn't share my life with you,   
then I didn't want to live. And then when I saw you   
alive, only to watch you die for real in so much pain,   
trying to save my life, Well, I realized how much I've   
taken your presence in my life for granted."   
  
"Mulder," she said, her eyes watering, "it was you   
who gave my life meaning. You've taught me a drive   
for living that I never would have found within   
myself." She wanted to be able to look at him, to   
see his face. She reached up and felt the small   
stubble about his cheek. "You taught a passion for   
life that I would have never known."   
  
Mulder leaned in closer. She felt his soft lips   
against his, tender and passionate. She took him   
in greedily, seven years of pent-up flirtations   
erupting in one hot-blooded moment of sexual   
ecstasy. Her lips were warm and moistened by the   
time he finally pulled back.   
  
They both breathed heavily, attempting to recover   
the air lost from their lungs as desire   
overruled involuntary biological action. She felt   
his hot breath against her cheek. Once again, she   
felt the urgent desire to see him, to gauge the   
truth of his words in his eyes. She braced herself   
and opened them wide. She saw his smile, his strong,   
handsome features, and his eyes, his beautiful eyes   
filled with love. She bit her lip as a single tear   
rolled down her face. Putting his palm against her   
hot cheek, he wiped it away with his thumb.   
  
"What's wrong?" he asked.   
  
"It hurts so much," she mumbled as he reached in   
and pressed his lips against hers.   
  
Fox Mulder Residence   
April 23, 2000   
2:25 A.M.   
  
Mulder held Scully in her arms. He grinned boyishly   
with a familiar paradoxical look of machismo and   
tenderness.   
  
"I'm so glad you asked me to drop by," she told him,   
leaning in to invite a long kiss. "I always have   
time for you, Scully," he replied, accepting the   
invitation, "as long as we make it quick. I have a   
meeting in a half hour."   
  
"Oh, Mulder," she scolded, slapping him playfully   
across his shoulder. He grabbed her by the arm and   
pulled her in to him. "Just kidding, Scully, I know   
you like it nice and slow."   
  
She kissed him on the mouth and then ran her lips   
down his cheek to his neck as she unbuttoned his   
shirt. He grabbed her forcefully by the back of her   
head and threw his lips hungrily on hers. He   
reached to untuck her blouse from her skirt and   
lifted it over her head. He touched her body but   
instead of feeling soft skin, all he felt was   
something wet on his hands. He drew back from her   
and held them out in front of him. His palms were   
covered in blood. He looked up expecting to the   
excitement of the moment on her face but all he   
saw was the pain. He followed her gaze to her   
stomach. She stuck her fingers in one of the   
three wounds on her torso. She lifted it up for   
him to see.   
  
"Blood," she said, the confusion apparent on her   
face. Her eyes rolled back in her head and Mulder   
could tell she was about to faint. He caught her   
as her body fell backwards. "Scully!" he cried,   
"Scully, wake up!" He looked up from where he was   
squatting on the floor. Lauren's face stared back   
at him. She held the stiletto high above her head.   
  
"I did it for you, Fox," she said, "They all died   
for you." She brought the blood-soaked   
weapon down again.   
  
Mulder awoke with a jolt as he clutched the cushions   
on the sofa. "Scully!" he called out, but no one was   
there. His back was soaked with sweat and his   
favorite gray shirt clung to his body. He threw his   
legs over the side of the sofa and rested his elbows   
on his knees. He put his palms to his face and shook   
of the uneasiness that came part and parcel with   
the sleepiness. He was used to having nightmares but   
never like these.   
  
The ringing of the phone shook him gently from his   
reverie and he bent over to pull it off the hook.   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Mulder," a voice asked uncertainly, "it's me.   
Did I wake you?"   
  
"No, I was up. I was having a little trouble   
sleeping."   
  
Scully bit her lip hesitantly. "Mulder," she asked,   
"would you mind coming over here? I'm having a bit   
of the same problem myself."   
  
"I'll be right over," he said. He put the phone back   
on the hook and grabbed his keys off the coffee table.   
He stood up and walked out of the apartment.   
  
Dana Scully Residence   
3:12 A.M.   
  
"Thank God you're here." Scully allowed herself to   
be swept up in a soothing embrace as she unlocked   
the door and found Mulder at the threshold.   
  
"Scully, what's wrong?" he asked, deep concern apparent   
in his voice. He threw one arm around her back and drew   
her close to him with the other, resting it lightly on   
the back of her head. She gazed up at him. She was   
shaking violently through her beige robe and her   
beautiful blue eyes were wide with terror.   
  
"Nightmares," she said simply, "terrible, terrible   
nightmares."   
  
With feet planted, he led her gently, swaying from side   
to side. The danced a quiet, intimate dance as he   
comforted her, "Shh, it's okay, I'm here." His mere   
presence - the smell of his cologne, the calm,   
gentleness of his touch - was enough to reassure her.   
She stepped back, folded her arms in front of her body,   
and cleared her throat, embarrassed by her actions.   
"Thank you," she said uncomfortably, "Please, come in."   
She extended her arm, directing him to be seated on the   
sofa. As he positioned himself, he noted the switching   
and sliding of various locks on the door, highlighting   
her achingly apparent uneasiness. She approached the   
couch and seated herself by his side.   
  
"Tell me about it," he commanded, spreading his arm   
across the top of the sofa and folding one leg over   
the other.   
  
"It was horrible," she confided, "I was here, in   
this room, talking to you on the phone. You were   
explaining to me about the massive outbreak of reported   
close encounters within the last couple of months. Then   
I saw a shadow on the floor and when I turned   
around to look, it was, it was her, Mulder."   
  
Mulder sighed deeply and looked down at the floor.   
  
"I'm sorry, Mulder," Scully stammered.   
  
"It's okay," he responded, looking into her eyes. He   
placed his hand over hers, "Go ahead."   
  
Scully squared her shoulders and took in a deep breath.   
"I saw it again, Mulder. I see it every time I close my   
eyes. All I can see is her, standing there in my apartment,   
holding that weapon dripping with blood. I can sense her   
anger towards me like a hot flame. Then I feel the weapon.   
Over and over I can feel it going into my body, quick and   
painful. I try to scream out to you for help but I drop   
the phone. It happens in slow motion. I see the phone   
falling down and down, farther and farther. I can hear   
you calling me but I can't answer. The last thing I see   
every night before I wake up is her, Mulder, and the last   
thing I hear is you."   
  
Scully gazed into his eyes. Piercing and blue, they   
penetrated every core of his being. It was a strange   
feeling, having someone know him so well. He felt   
desperately unsettled, but somehow uniquely comforted   
at the same time. He shifted uneasily as he began to   
open up.   
  
"I have the same dream, Scully. I can't escape it. I   
just keep replaying it over and over again in my head.   
At first I thought it was because I couldn't face the   
truth of Lauren's true nature, but then I began to   
discover the real reason why I have been so haunted.   
It's the thought of losing you."   
  
Scully blushed slightly and looked towards the floor.   
"Oh, Mulder," she responded sweetly.   
  
"I mean, just think about it, Scully," he grinned,   
"what would I do without someone there to constantly   
deliver one harangue after another regarding the   
scientific foundation for the composition of   
unexplained extraterrestrial entities? I might actually   
succeed in getting booted once and for all from the   
Bureau, and then who would Skinner have to take out   
all of his sexual frustration?"   
  
She smiled fondly, but his grin soon began to fade   
into a dismal frown.   
  
"Scully," he asked straight-faced, "do you think   
that I deserve to be punished?"   
  
"Mulder," she said, a shocked expression appearing   
on her face, "why would you say such a thing?"   
  
"Lauren told me that it was my fault, Scully, my   
fault that so many people have suffered, and I   
must admit that I have to agree. If it wasn't for   
my ceaseless quest for knowledge, my father might   
still be alive, and certainly my mother. Deep Throat   
would be attempting to deflate the Smoking Man's   
Syndicate, and X would be by his side." She heard   
sorrow in his voice and regret in his eyes as he   
continued. "Not to mention the pain I've inflicted   
on you, Scully. You getting stabbed is just the   
latest example. If it weren't for me, you never   
would have been abducted, you could still bear   
children, your sister would be alive, and you   
wouldn't have found yourself facing death, what, it   
must be about two-hundred times by now." He shook   
his head in an outward sign of his self-denigration.   
  
"Maybe she was right, Scully. Maybe my victims should   
gain retribution for my sins. Maybe 'An Eye For An Eye,   
A Tooth For A Tooth' is just as good a code of conduct   
as any."   
  
Scully chuckled softly. "I never had you pegged for   
the obey-the-word-of-God-type, Mulder," she gently   
teased.   
  
"Scully, I'm serious," he responded. She could tell   
by the look on his face that he was.   
  
"You know, Mulder," she replied, "a wise man once   
said, 'An eye for an eye would make the whole world   
blind'."   
  
He nodded thoughtfully. "Gandhi," he said   
matter-of-factly.   
  
"That's right," she answered, "and look what happened   
to him. He got to be Mahatma of a whole nation. There   
must be something to what he says." She draped her hand   
lightly on his forearm.   
  
"Listen, Mulder," she said sincerely, "You are not to   
be blamed for the death of anyone. Deep Throat, your   
mother, especially your father. They all made their   
own decisions in life, just as you made yours. They   
chose a path, and it led to a destructive end, but   
you are still here, and I am still here, and nothing   
they can do can ever change that. I left medicine to   
find my place in the world, to do some good in my life   
before I die. I could not have fulfilled that promise   
to myself if I had found anyone else in that dingy   
little copy room." She grabbed both of his hands in   
hers and held them tightly.   
  
"Don't feel sorry for me, Mulder," she said through a   
brave smile, "You are not some harbinger of death,   
sent to make my life a living hell." She chuckled   
warm-heartedly,   
  
"That's Skinner's job." She looked into his   
hazel-green eyes. The warmth from them seemed to   
overtake her entire body. Her face and voice suddenly   
became solemn.   
  
"You've made me feel more alive in these short seven   
years than I've ever felt my entire life," she told   
him.   
  
Without warning or any inhibition, she leaned into him   
and bestowed him with a long, hot kiss on the lips. Her   
hands moved from his up behind his back, and then   
behind his head. She strummed her fingers through his   
hair as she beckoned him towards her. She twisted her   
mouth and ran her tongue over his. She felt a surge of   
heat run through her as she felt his hands press   
against her back. "Mulder," she moaned breathlessly as   
she drew back to look into his eyes. They were filled   
with a mixture desire and affection. She saw them   
glance back at her, down her neck and towards her chest.   
She looked down. Her robe had come slightly open during   
their brief exchange. She grabbed his hand and put it   
between the open flaps. "It's okay," she told him,   
guiding his hand down the contours of her shoulder,   
"I'm ready."   
  
"Are you sure?" he asked, aware that they would be   
crossing the boundary from partners to something more,   
never to go back again. He wasn't willing to pressure her   
into something that she was unwilling to handle, even if   
it meant forgetting his desire to have her, to hold her   
in his arms, to wake up next to her.   
  
"I'm sure," she answered, leading his hands down her body.   
At his touch, the robe fell listlessly at her waist. She   
stood up, for the first time fully in touch with her   
feelings for him, ready to commit to him bodily as she   
had mentally and spiritually. Her hands pulled   
him up from the couch and led him into the bedroom.   
  
10:28 A.M.   
  
Mulder opened his eyes groggily, attempting to divine   
his surroundings from the accompanied haze and   
confusion of sleep. The Sunday morning sunlight poured   
in through the windows, illuminating the bright, white   
decor of the room. He sat up and removed the tousled   
spread from his waist. He suddenly remembered. He was   
in Scully's apartment.   
  
His mind flashed back to the previous night. He had   
never before experienced someone so fully,   
intellectually, socially, and now physically. Their   
partnership had been one of equality. She provided   
the sound, scientific background to his unconventional,   
seemingly irrational theories and methods, though he   
had always considered himself the conduit through   
which she could begin to explore other channels for   
which science provided no answers. In that respect, he   
was the teacher, and she the student. Yet, last night   
she had surprised him. He had long lusted for her in   
his heart, but could never take the initiative until   
she was willing to let go of her fears. But last night   
it was she who had taken his hand and guided him to   
the next level of their relationship. He remembered how   
good it felt to feel her soft skin caressing him,   
wordlessly informing him that there was nothing to   
fear. She taught him a kind of peacefulness that he   
hadn't experienced since he had found the truth behind   
his sister's disappearance all those years ago. It was   
as though he had hidden a piece of himself far away in   
the darkest crevices of his soul and in one moment of   
illumination she had found it and made him complete.   
  
But that was last night. How would she feel about   
their actions now? If he knew Scully like he thought   
he knew her, she had most probably been contemplating   
the pros and cons of their sexual relationship for   
hours now, if not longer. He turned his body and looked   
at the other side of the bed. She was gone. Was she   
feeling remorse? Did she regret letting herself   
transcend the safe confines of a strictly platonic   
relationship?   
  
He stood up and looked for the jeans that he had worn   
to her house. He discovered them laying in a crumpled   
ball on the floor behind a little table that bore the   
weight of a lamp on it. He picked them up, shook them   
out straight, and put them on. He then found his gray   
shirt, and put it on as well. As he looked at himself   
in the mirror on the opposite wall, he thought he   
heard sounds coming from the adjacent room. He cocked   
his head slightly and listened again. He slowly began   
to decipher the sounds of a keyboard clicking.   
  
He walked out of the bedroom and followed the noises.   
Scully's back was facing him. She was seated at a   
corner desk, typing away furiously at her laptop.   
As he approached her, he contemplated how he should   
handle the situation. Should he talk about what   
happened or just ignore it and act like nothing   
happened? He shot an apprehensive glance in the   
direction of the door. Maybe he should have gotten   
up early and left. Maybe there was still time.   
  
Scully turned around in the chair and stared at him.   
She was wearing the pair of oversized reading   
glasses that proved as necessary as the computer   
itself whenever she was writing up a case file. She   
removed them deftly with one hand and pushed back her   
fiery red hair with the other. "Is she waiting for me   
to say something?" he wondered. He was still   
attempting to make a decision as to what his next   
course of action would be when a pleasant smile   
crossed her face.   
  
"Happy Easter," she said simply, pushing a plate of   
deviled eggs towards him that lay beside her on   
the desk.   
  
"Happy Easter," he responded, unsure of what to say   
or do next. By this time he was standing next to her.   
He took a chance, leaned in, and kissed her on the   
cheek. Pulling up a chair beside her, he grabbed an   
egg, bit into it, and asked anxiously, "How are you?"   
"I'm fine, Mulder," she replied, "How are you?" Her   
right eyebrow arched greatly on her forehead as she   
asked the question.   
  
"Fine," he answered, "Just fine."   
  
Scully looked at him for a moment as they sat in   
silence. After a minute she reached out her hand and   
placed it on his knee. "Well, this is a little   
awkward, isn't it?" she asked. Mulder threw his palms   
in front of his face, covering his eyes and mouth.   
"Thank God you said so," he moaned, the words somewhat   
muffled by his hands. He rubbed his forehead and slid   
his hands down his cheeks and off his chin. "I was   
worried I was the only one."   
  
"You're not," Scully answered, patting his hand,   
"We'll just have to get it better next time."   
  
"Next time?" he questioned, looking up into her   
smiling face. He returned the smile, grateful   
for the humor to replace the desperate feeling   
of uneasiness. "I don't know, Scully," he said,   
"I don't think that it could possibly get any   
better than last night." He looked as though he   
had just won first prize at a science fair.   
  
"Modesty becomes you, Mulder," Scully answered,   
still grinning.   
  
"So let me get this straight, just to avoid all   
potential confusion and embarrassing situations   
on my part in the future. We are planning on   
making this a new addition to our daily   
schedule, right? Days in the field, nights in   
bed?"   
  
"Well, we're more harmful to them together,"   
Scully replied, "isn't that what Lauren said?   
Isn't that why she tried to kill us, to stop us   
from exposing the truth? And if we can only stop   
the future by getting close, then isn't that what   
we should be doing?"   
  
"I can think of a few things I'd like to be doing   
right now." His eyes gleamed with a mischievous   
intent.   
  
"Anyway, that's what I'm looking into as we   
speak," Scully said. For the first time,   
Mulder became aware of what was on the screen.   
It was the DNA information that he had   
confiscated from Chimera.   
  
"What are you doing?" he asked, turning his   
attention to the compound, "the case is over.   
What are you looking for?"   
  
"Answers, Mulder," she replied, "I'm looking for   
answers. If we can just find something to   
destabilize the bonds in the nucleotides, we   
could potentially protect ourselves from the   
future colonization that Lauren spoke of. I mean,   
she was initially using some chemical compound   
to kill her victims, before she ran out of time   
and resorted to stabbing. That must mean that   
there exists an organic compound, here on this   
Earth that has the ability to destabilize, maybe   
some, I don't know, maybe some sort of material   
with magnetic properties, something that would   
disrupt the electronegative charges found   
in the samples of Purity Control."   
  
Mulder leaned over and placed a palm to her   
forehead. "Are you feeling well, Scully?   
You seem a little sick."   
  
She shook his hand roughly off her head. "I'm   
fine, Mulder. Isn't this what you always   
wanted? For me to believe you? This time I   
would have to say that the evidence   
overwhelmingly indicates Purity Control is of   
extraterrestrial origin, and that Chimera   
scientists have the ability to combine human   
and alien DNA. Now, even if all that shit   
about alien invasion and colonization turns   
out to be a load of trash, at least we will   
possess the power to halt the generation and   
disposal of clones that were created for God   
knows what by God knows whom."   
  
"Maybe we shouldn't possess that power, Scully.   
Maybe it isn't ours to decide what the future   
holds. Maybe that would make us as guilty as   
those men that financially back Chimera."   
  
"What are you saying, Mulder?" she asked,   
somewhat astonished, "Are you saying that   
you want to give up and let time here run   
its course?"   
  
"No," he answered, "I'm not saying that at   
all. As long as I have the strength I will keep   
fighting with you to make the truth known. I   
don't believe that there is one outcome   
predestined by the beginning of time. Every   
choice you make in life changes your future,   
whether it be selecting the Bureau over a career   
in medicine or electing to have a hotdog   
instead of a hamburger for lunch. I think that   
what's really important in life is the trip   
along the way, the people that you meet and the   
experiences you gather from those chance   
encounters." He looked hard into her crystalline   
eyes. "Whatever the future holds for us, Scully,   
we'll face it together, without hesitation, without   
fear for the future because it's constantly   
changing. We change it, and together, we will make   
a better   
world."   
  
Scully smiled gratefully as he leaned in and kissed   
her softly on the lips. "Thank you," she whispered,   
"Thank you."   
  
"For what?" he asked softly.   
  
"For opening my eyes," she said, looking through   
his hazel-green eyes and into his soul, "For   
opening them to you." Gazing out the window into   
the morning sky, they held each other tightly in   
anticipation of a future bright with the hope of   
two people, remotely opposite, yet finding   
themselves journeying on the same path of faith.   
It was a future bright with the strength of each   
other.   
  
*THE END* 


End file.
